!! synopsis: you get jealous watching jake sweet talk his fans on live. he thinks you're mad at him, but then he realizes the truth, you want him to talk you through it. so he does.
!! warnings: smut (mdni), soft dom jake, sub reader, oral (male receiving), fingering, pet names, piv, unprotected sex (dont!), lots of jake sweet talking, lowkey js smut icl
!! wc: 3k
!! a/n: i physically cannot get this live out of my head i lit wrote this at midnight in like 2 hours with talk u through it by kwn blasting in my ears.
You knew it was stupid before you even felt it.
Jake was on live like he always was, like he loved to be leaning back in his chair with that lazy, pretty smile that made thousands of fans lose their minds in the chat. His hair was messy, falling into his eyes. Glasses falling low on his nose causing him to keep pushing it back with one hand while he read comments out loud in that low, warm voice.
"Is the music too loud? You gotta tell me, you gotta communicate."
"Uh huh uh huh, you funny."
"How do you say it? you gotta tell me."
"It's gonna be a good tour so I want everybody here to come."
Your jaw clenched.
You were sitting on the edge of his bed, just out of frame, pretending to scroll through your phone. But you weren't reading a single word. All you could hear was him your Jake talking to fans in that soft, commanding tone.
Whatever it was.
He ended the stream twenty minutes later with a warm "Goodbye, I love you all " and a wink that made your stomach twist.
The room went quiet.
He spun in his chair, stretched his arms over his head, and finally looked at you. His smile was easy, unguarded. "You're quiet."
You shrugged. "Just tired."
Jake's eyes narrowed slightly. He stood up, crossed the room, and sat on the bed next to you. Close.
"Did I do something?" he asked softly.
"No."
"Liar."
You finally looked at him. His expression wasn't teasing yet. It was careful. Curious. Like he was genuinely trying to figure out what he'd done wrong.
"You didn't do anything," you snapped. And meant it, kind of. He hadn't done anything. He was just him. And that was the problem.
Jake tilted his head. Then his lips twitched.
"Oh," he said slowly. A new light flickered in his eyes. "Oh."
"What?"
"You're jealous."
"I'm not"
"You are." His voice dropped. Not mean. Just certain. He reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, fingers dragging lightly along your skin. "You've been sitting here frowning at your phone for twenty minutes because I was nice to my fans."
Your face went hot. "I wasn't frowning."
"You were pouting."
"I don't pout."
Jake laughed soft and low and leaned closer. His knee pressed against yours. "You're doing it right now."
You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Because he was looking at you the way he looked at the camera, but more. Deeper. Hungrier.
"Baby," he said quietly. The word hit you differently now. Private. "You want me to talk you through it?"
Your breath caught.
There it was.
Your whole body went weak, like he'd pulled a string and everything inside you unraveled. Your phone slipped from your hand onto the bed.
Jake noticed. His smile turned slow. Knowing.
"Yeah," he whispered. "There you are."
"You're shaking," he said softly, not even a question.
You were. Your fingers trembled against your thighs, and you didn't know if it was adrenaline or nerves or the way he was looking at you so intently.
"I'm fine," you whispered.
You could smell his cologne clean, warm, a little smoky. He tilted his head, and one hand came up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing your lower lip.
"You're not fine," he said. "But you will be. Because I'm going to take good care of you, okay?"
Your breath caught. "And how are you going to do that?"
His smile was gentle. Almost sweet. But his eyes weren't.
"By giving you exactly what you need but before I do that you're going to give me what I want since you didn't want to admit you're jealous."
Before you know it you're on your knees in front of him, and you've never felt more exposed not because of what you're about to do, but because of the way he's looking at you. Jakes eyes are dark, half lidded, his chest rising and falling a little faster than usual. His hand comes down gently to cup your chin, tilting your face up toward him.
"Wait." His voice is quiet but firm. "Look at me first."
You do. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip.
"You're gonna tell me if it's too much, yeah? Just tap my leg. Twice. Can you do that for me?"
You nod again, and he smiles that slow, teasing smile that makes your stomach flip.
"Good girl. Now go ahead. Take it off."
Your fingers hook under the elastic. He lifts his hips just enough to help you, and you pull his sweats down slowly, then his boxers. He's already hard, and you hear him let out a soft breath when the air hits his skin.
"There you go," he murmurs. "That's it."
You wrap your hand around him first, just to feel the weight of it. He groans quietly, his head falling back against the wall for a second before he looks down at you again.
"Whenever you're ready, baby. No rush."
You lean in and lick a slow stripe from the base to the tip. His hand moves to your hair not pushing, just resting there, fingers threading through softly.
"Just like that," he says, his voice already rougher. "Warm me up first. Nice and slow."
You take the tip into your mouth and he inhales sharply.
"Oh- yeah. There ya go. That's it. Just a little at a time. You don't have to take it all."
His hands guides you gently, not forcing, just showing you the rhythm he likes. You sink down a little more causing your spit to drip down, he lets out a shaky laugh.
"Messy already, huh?" he says, thumb wiping a bit of spit from the corner of your mouth. "You're doing so good. So fuckin' good."
You moan around him, and he feels it his thigh tenses next to your cheek.
"Fuck. Do that again."
You do. His grip in your hair tightens just slightly, not hard, just there.
"Breathe through your nose," he reminds you. "There you go. You're a natural, you know that?"
You pull off for a second to catch your breath, and a string of spit connects you to him. He looks down at it, then back at your face, and his expression goes soft and dark at the same time.
"Look at you. All messy for me." He cups your cheek. "You want to keep going?"
"Yes," you whisper.
"Yeah? You want me to talk you through it?"
"Please."
He grins. "Then get back here."
You take him in your mouth again, deeper this time, and his composure cracks just a little. A low groan escapes him, and his hips twitch forward before he catches himself.
"Easy," he breathes. "I got you. You're okay. Just- yeah, fuck right there. Stay right there for a second."
He holds you still, not deep throating, just letting you feel him pulse on your tongue. His thumb strokes your cheekbone.
"You feel that? That's you. You're doing that to me."
You look up at him with watery eyes, and something in his face breaks open.
"Holy fuck," he whispers. "You're so fucking pretty like this."
You start moving again, finding a rhythm, and he lets you lead for a while just his hand in your hair, his voice a constant stream above you.
"That's it. Good girl. Don't rush. Just take what you can."
Spit drips down your chin. You don't care. He doesn't either in fact, he watches it happen and groans.
"So messy. I love it. I love you like this."
His breathing gets heavier. His hips start moving in small, shallow thrusts not rough, just desperate.
"I'm gonna- fuck, I'm close. You want me to pull out?"
You shake your head as best you can with him in your mouth.
"Yeah? You want it?"
You moan yes.
"Okay. Okay, baby. Keep going. Just like that. Don't stop- don't stop, you're almost there-"
His voice gets breathy and higher.
"I'm gonna- fuck, fuck right there you're so good "
He cums with a choked sound, his hand cradling the back of your head, holding you gently in place as he spills into your mouth.
"That's it. Take it. You did so good. So fuckin' good for me. I got you. I got you."
When he's done, he pulls you off slowly and immediately pushes his fingers in your mouth to make you show him you swallowed. His forehead presses against yours, both of you breathing hard.
"Fuck you're so perfect for me," he whispers, wiping your mouth with his thumb. "You okay?"
You nod, trembling.
He laughs softly. "Now come here. My turn."
He didn't rush.
That was the first thing you learned about Jake when the cameras were off. He didn't grab or tear or demand. He asked, but in a way that left no room for you to say no.
"Lay back for me," he said quietly.
You laid.
"Good fucking girl."
Those three words hit you somewhere deep, and he saw it. Of course he saw it. He saw everything.
His hands landed on your shoulders warm, solid, grounding. His mouth found your ear.
"I'm gonna take care of you," he murmured. "But you have to listen to me. Can you do that?"
"Yes."
"Say yes, Jake.'"
Your throat tightened. "Yes, Jake."
His hands slid down your arms slowly, like he was memorizing you. When he reached your wrists, he didn't grab them he just circled them with his fingers and held.
"I want you to feel everything," he said. "But I don't want you to think. Just feel. Just listen to my voice. Can you do that for me?"
"Fuck yes I can Jake."
"Good."
Then he kissed you.
It wasn't messy at first. It was slow, deliberate, his lips coaxing yours open like he had all the time in the world. One hand stayed on your wrist. The other slid into your hair, gentle but firm, tilting your head exactly where he wanted it.
When he pulled back, you almost whimpered.
"Shh," he breathed. "I've got you. I'm right here."
His thumb traced your cheekbone. "You feel so good already, and I've barely touched you. Do you know that? Do you know how hard it is for me to go this slow?"
You shook your head, lost.
"I'll show you," he said. "But first take off your shirt."
Your hands moved before your brain caught up. The fabric slipped over your head, and suddenly you were standing in front of him in just your bra, and his gaze dropped like a physical weight.
"Gosh so beautiful," he said softly. "Now tell me. Do you want me to keep going?"
"Yes."
"Say it all the way."
"I want you to keep going, Jake please."
His smile was warm, but his voice dropped lower. "Then look all pretty for me while you keep your eyes on me." "I'm going to give you what you deserve cause you've been so good to me," he said. "And every time you feel like you're getting lost, I want you to look at me and watch me talk you through it. Can you do that?"
You nodded.
"Cmon use your words, baby."
"Yes, Jake. I can do that."
"Good girl."
His hand moved first to your side just a slow drag of his fingers from your ribs down to your hip. Then back up. Then down again, lower each time, until his thumb brushed the waistband of your pants.
"You're already breathing so fast," he observed, like he was fascinated. "I love that. I love that I can do this to you without even trying."
His fingers dipped beneath the fabric, just barely. Just enough to make your hips lift off the bed.
"Ah ah," he murmured. "Stay still. I'll give you what you need, but you have to let me lead. Understand?"
"Yes, Jake."
"Perfect."
He pulled your pants down slowly, agonizingly slowly his knuckles grazing your thighs the whole way. When you were bare from the waist down, he just stopped and looked at you.
"You're so wet already," he said, and it wasn't teasing. It was reverent. "Goodness. You really do want this, don't you?"
You couldn't speak. You just nodded.
"I know," he said. "I know, baby. And I'm gonna make you feel so good."
He lowered himself until his mouth was right next to your ear.
"I'm going to put my fingers inside you now," he said, voice low and steady. "And I want you to tell me how it feels. Every single thing. Don't hold back. Can you do that?"
"Mhmm yes Jake yes."
"Then show me."
When his fingers finally touched you just a light, teasing press you gasped so loud you almost scared yourself.
"That's it," he said, circling slowly. "That's exactly it. Let me hear you."
He pushed one finger inside, and your back arched.
"Oh-"
"Yeah," he breathed. "Feel that? That's just the beginning. You're taking me so well already. So fucking good for me."
He added a second finger, and you grabbed his wrist not to stop him, just to hold onto something.
"I know," he said. "I know it's a lot. But you can take it. You're doing so good. Just breathe for me."
He started a rhythm slow, deep, curling his fingers on every pull back. And he kept talking. Kept guiding.
"Every time I do this," he said, pressing exactly where you needed him, "you squeeze around me. Do you feel that? Do you feel how your body knows what to do?"
"Yes- yes, Jake-"
"You're close already, aren't you?"
You couldn't lie. "Yes."
"Not yet," he said, and pulled his fingers out.
You almost cried.
"Shh, shh, shh," he cooed, kissing your forehead. "You gotta listen to me pretty and right now, I'm telling you you're not cumming until I'm inside you. You understand?"
"Please-"
"Please what?"
"Please, Jake- I need you-"
He smiled. That same gentle, devastating smile. "That's all you had to say."
He pulled off his own clothes in a way that should have been rushed but wasn't. Every movement was deliberate. When he was bare, he knelt between your legs and wrapped a hand around himself, stroking once, twice.
"Look at me," he said.
You looked.
"I'm going to go slow," he said. "But I'm not going to stop. If it's too much, you tell me yeah? I'll be right here through everything Understand?"
"Yes, Jake."
He lined himself up, and then he pushed inside just an inch. Just enough to make you both gasp.
"Oh my god-"
"I know," he groaned, dropping his forehead to yours. "I know, baby. You feel- fuck- you feel so good. Better than I imagined. And I've imagined this a lot."
He pushed deeper, and your nails dug into his shoulders.
"That's it," he whispered. "Take all of me. You're doing so good. So fucking good for me."
When he was fully inside, he stopped. Just held there, letting you adjust, his breath hot and shaky against your cheek.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yes- yes, please don't stop "
"I won't," he said. "I'm gonna move now. And I want you to keep your eyes on mine. Don't look away."
He started moving slow at first, then deeper, then faster in a way that was still controlled but just on the edge of messy. His hips snapped against yours, and the sound of it filled the room.
"You feel that?" he breathed. "That's me inside you. That's me taking care of you. You're not thinking about anything else right now, are you?"
You shook your head, barely able to speak.
"No," he said. "Because I've got you. I've got all of you. And you're so- god- you're so perfect like this all fucked out. Messy and loud and all mine."
His hand slid between your bodies and found you he pressed exactly where you needed him and you shattered.
"Let go for me baby," he commanded softly. "I've got you.
You did. You cum undone completely, crying out his name, and he followed right after burying his face in your neck and groaning low and long as he spilled inside you.
He didn't stop talking, even then.
"That's it," he murmured against your skin. "That's my good girl. You did so well. You took everything I gave you. I'm so proud of you."
Afterward, he didn't pull away.
He stayed inside you for a long moment, breathing hard, one hand cradling the back of your head. Then he eased out slowly and gathered you against his chest.
"You okay?" he asked again.
You nodded against his shoulder, still trembling.
"Talk to me," he said softly. "I need to hear your voice."
"That was-" you started, then laughed weakly. "I can't even think."
He smiled and kissed your hair. "Good. That's what I wanted."
He pulled the blanket over both of you and held you tighter.
"You were so good for me," he said one more time. "And tomorrow, I'm gonna talk you through it all over again."
!! synopsis: you don't need help. ever. then you fail a class and get stuck with jake sim the campus fuckboy, and your new tutor. he's cocky. he's in your space. and you're about to learn that fuckboy's tutor best.
!! warnings: smut (mdni), dom jake, sub/bratty reader, oral, fingering, pet names, dirty talk, spanking, piv, unprotected sex (dont!), praising, semi public
!! wc: 9.5k
!! a/n: pics of jake always awake something in me, sry this took forever i debated hard on the flow of this story so sorry if it feels rushed, ENJOY!
The red F on your midterm was actually offensive.
Not because you'd worked hard. You hadn't. You'd skimmed the readings, showed up to class hungover twice, and submitted a study guide you'd filled out while watching a movie. The F was fair, the problem was it bruised your ego.
Professor Lee didn't even wait for the rest of the class to leave. She caught you at the door, hand on your arm, voice low enough that only you could hear.
"A word." You followed her to her desk, she held up your exam."38 percent." she said.
"I know, I'll study harder."
"You've been skating by on charm and curve points, and now the curve can't save you." She slid a piece of paper across the desk. "Peer tutoring. Mandatory. Twice a week until your average is above a C."
You picked up the paper. One name written in blue ink.
Jake Sim.
"Jake Sim?" you said.
"He's the best tutor I have. Top of the class last semester. Top of the class now.
You knew Jake Sim. Well, you didn't know him. You knew of him. Everyone did. The guy who showed up to every party with a new girl and left with whoever he wanted. The guy who never raised his voice but always got the last word. The guy who'd held a door open for you once and looked at you like he was already bored.
"He's a fuckboy," you said not thinking she heard.
Professor Lee didn't blink. "He's also the only reason six people are passing this class right now. You start Monday. His schedule is at the bottom."
You walked out of that office with your 38 percent and a new low.
Karina and Giselle were waiting for you outside, perched on a bench, phones in hand, looking like they'd been there for hours.
"Your face says disaster," Karina said.
"I have a tutor."
"Okay?"
"Jake Sim."
Giselle's head snapped up. "Jake Sim?"
"Unfortunately."
Karina burst out laughing. "The Jake Sim?"
"Yes."
"The one who went through three sororities in one semester?"
"Yes."
"The one who corrected Sunghoon's drink order at a party and then made out with his date an hour later?"
"Karina." you screamed.
"I'm just saying!" She was grinning now. "Damn. Not Jake."
"I know."
"But also..." Giselle tilted her head. "Damn. Jake is kinda hot."
"I don't care if he's hot. He's a walking red flag with good bone structure."
"And he's your tutor." Karina wiped a tear from her eye. "This is the best thing that's ever happened to me."
"I'm going to fail."
You sat down between them and put your head in your hands. "He's going to be insufferable. You know he's going to be insufferable. He's going to sit there with that stupid smirk and explain basic statistics like I'm a child and I'm going to have to pretend I don't want to throw my textbook at his head."
"Or," Giselle said, "you could just let him be hot and enjoy the view."
"I'm not going to enjoy anything."
"You've never even talked to him."
"I don't need to talk to him to know I hate him."
Karina patted your back. "That's the spirit."
Jake was mid-bite into his sandwich when Sunghoon kicked his foot under the table.
"You got assigned a tutoring student?"
Jake chewed. Swallowed. "Yeah."
"Who?"
"Does it matter?"
Jay leaned forward. "It matters cause we are nosy."
Heeseung was already scrolling through his phone. "Professor Lee's class? She sent out the list this morning."
Jake took another bite. He'd seen the name. He'd read it twice. He'd spent maybe longer than necessary staring at it.
He knew who you were. Everyone did. The girl who walked into parties like she owned them. The girl who never asked for help. The girl who'd looked at him just once across a crowded room, and then looked away like he wasn't worth a second glance.
"You're being weird," Jungwon said from the end of the table.
"I'm not being weird."
"You're not talking. That's weird for you."
Jake set his sandwich down. "It's Y/N."
Silence.
Then Sunghoon choked on his drink.
"The one who told Professor Kim to his face that his lecture was boring?"
"That's her."
Jay whistled. "She needs a tutor? I thought she had everything figured out."
"Apparently not."
Jungwon shrugged. "She's going to hate it."
"She's going to hate me."
"Probably."
Jake thought about that. Thought about your face the one time you'd looked at him. You hadn't smiled. Hadn't blushed. Hadn't done any of the things girls usually did when they looked at him.
You'd just looked. And then you'd walked away.
"I don't know," Heeseung said slowly. "She's hot. Like, really hot. Independent. People come to her for help. This might be interesting."
"Interesting how?" Jake asked.
"I don't know. Just... interesting. She's not going to fall all over you like everyone else does."
Jake picked up his sandwich. "I'm not trying to make her fall all over me."
"Sure you're not."
"I'm just tutoring her. That's it."
Sunghoon snorted. "Famous last words."
Jake didn't respond. But he couldn't stop thinking about your name on that paper.
Y/N.
He wondered if you'd text him first or if he'd have to reach out.
He wondered if you'd show up on Monday with that same look on your face like you had nothing to prove to anyone.
He wondered what it would take to make you look at him twice.
Three days before your first session, Karina dragged you to a party.
"I need to get out," she said.
"You need to get out. I need to study."
"No babes you need to drink."
The party was at some guy's house you didn't catch the name to and you didn't care. The music was too loud, the cups were sticky, and within twenty minutes, you'd lost Karina to the dance floor and Giselle to a guy who looked like he played club sports.
You were on your third drink when you saw him.
Jake.
He was on a couch in the corner, and there was a girl in his lap.
Not sitting next to him. Not leaning against him. Fully in his lap, her legs draped over his thigh, her lips hovering near his ear. His hand was on her waist. He wasn't kissing her but it was clearly heading there.
You recognized the girl. Wonyoung. She was in your psych class. She'd spent the entire semester batting her eyelashes at every guy within a ten foot radius.
Of course it was Wonyoung.
You looked away. Drank. Looked back.
His hand had moved lower.
"Ew," you said to no one.
Karina appeared at your elbow. "What?"
"Jake Sim. With the one and only."
Karina followed your gaze. "Oh. Yeah. That's Wonyoung. She's been trying to get his attention for weeks."
"He's letting her."
"That's what he does." Karina shrugged. "He's always like that. A different girl every week. Sometimes every night. It's his whole thing."
"His whole thing is gross."
"His whole thing is effective. Look at her. She's practically melting."
You took another drink. "I have to let him teach me statistics."
"Poor you."
"I'm serious. How am I supposed to sit across from someone who acts like that?"
"You could try not staring at him."
"Shut up."
Karina grabbed your hand. "Come on. You're too sober. We're dancing."
She pulled you onto the floor. The music shifted something with a bass you could feel in your chest. You let yourself move. Let yourself forget about the F and the tutoring and the way Jake's hand had looked on Wonyoung's waist.
A guy found you. Tall. Dark hair. Cute in a forgettable way. He smiled at you and you smiled back because why not, and then his hands were on your hips and you were dancing with him.
It was fine. It was nothing.
But across the room, someone was watching.
"She's here," Sunghoon said.
Jake didn't have to ask who. He'd seen you the second you walked in. The way the room shifted when you entered. The way people looked at you like you were the main character and they were just extras.
"Yeah," Jake said. "I saw her."
Wonyoung was still in his lap. He'd forgotten she was there until she shifted and pressed closer. He should focus on her. She was pretty. She was interested. She was easy.
But his eyes kept finding you.
You were dancing with some guy now. Some random guy who'd probably never talked to you before tonight. His hands were on your hips. You were laughing at something he said.
"Why is she dancing with him?" Jake asked.
Sunghoon looked. "Because she's at a party? Because he asked? Why do you care?"
"I don't."
"You're staring."
"I'm observing."
"Heeseung called it." Jay appeared on Jake's other side. "He said you'd be interested."
"I'm not interested."
"You've looked at her twelve times in the last ten minutes."
Jake pulled his eyes away. Wonyoung was looking at him expectantly. He'd missed something she'd said.
"Sorry," he said. "What?"
"I asked if you wanted to go somewhere quieter."
The implication was clear. A month ago, he would have said yes. A week ago, he would have said yes. But tonight, for some reason, the word stuck in his throat.
"I have an early class," he said.
Wonyoung's face flickered. "Oh."
She didn't look convinced, but she got off his lap. Walked away without looking back.
Sunghoon raised his eyebrows. "You just let her go."
"She's not going anywhere."
"She's going to find someone else."
"Good for her."
Jake stood up. He needed water. Or air. Or something that wasn't watching you dance with someone else.
He pushed through the crowd toward the back of the house. The hallway was quieter. The bathroom door was cracked open, light spilling out.
He was about to walk past when you stepped out.
You nearly collided with his chest.
"Oh-" You looked up. Your eyes were glassy. You were tipsy. Maybe more than tipsy. "You."
"Me."
"I was just thinking about you."
"Good things?"
"I was thinking about how much I don't want to see you on Monday."
Jake leaned against the wall. Arms crossed. Calm. "That's funny. I was thinking about how much I'm looking forward to it."
"You're lying."
"I don't lie."
"Everyone lies."
"Not me." He tilted his head. "You're drunk."
"I'm tipsy. There's a difference."
"You're going to be hungover on Monday."
"I'm going to be fine on Monday."
"We'll see."
You stepped closer. Pointed a finger at his chest. "You're my teacher now. That's so weird."
"I'm your tutor. Not your teacher."
"Same thing."
"Different thing."
"You're correcting me already?" Your eyes narrowed. "We haven't even started."
"I'm just preparing you."
"For what?"
"For me."
You stared at him. He stared back.
"I hate you," you said.
Jake smiled. Slow. "Monday. Library. Third floor. Seven o'clock. Don't be late."
"I'm never late."
"You were late to Professor Kim's lecture three times last semester."
Your mouth opened. Closed. "How do you know that?"
"I pay attention."
You blinked at him. Then you shook your head and pushed past him, stumbling slightly on your way back to the party.
Jake watched you go.
He was definitely looking forward to Monday.
You showed up at 6:58 because you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of being late.
The library was mostly empty on a Monday night. Third floor was silent except for the hum of the vending machine and the squeak of your shoes on the floor.
Jake was already there. Of course he was.
He was sitting at a table near the window, laptop open, textbook out, pens lined up perfectly. He looked up when you approached.
"You're early," he said.
"I'm on time."
He gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit down."
You sat. Dropped your bag on the floor. Crossed your arms.
"So." He closed his laptop. "Show me your exam."
"No."
"I can help you by explaining why you failed."
Your jaw tightened. "I didn't fail. I got a 38. That's not technically failing. That's... adjacent to failing."
"38 is failing."
"It's a soft fail."
"There's no such thing."
"There is if I say there is."
Jake leaned back in his chair. Studied you. "You're going to be difficult, aren't you?"
"I'm not difficult. I'm particular."
"Same thing, different font."
You almost smiled. Almost. "Fine." You pulled the exam out of your bag and slid it across the table. "There. Happy?"
He picked it up. Read it. Didn't react. "Okay," he said. "Here's the problem. You don't know how to study."
"I know how to study."
"You know how to memorize things the night before and hope for the best. That's not studying."
"It's worked so far."
"Has it?" He held up the exam. "Because this looks like your luck ran out."
You opened your mouth. Closed it.
"Here's how this is going to work," he said. "You're going to stop pretending you're too good for this. I'm going to stop pretending you're not smart. And we're both going to get through this without killing each other."
"That last part isn't guaranteed."
He almost smiled. "Deal."
He stood up. Walked to the whiteboard the library kept in the corner. Picked up a marker.
"Come here."
You didn't move.
"I'm not going to bite." He looked over his shoulder. "Unless you want me to."
"Enough with the games Sim."
"Then come here so I can actually teach you something."
You stood up. Walked to the whiteboard. Stood as far away from him as possible while still being able to see.
He drew a curve. Labeled it. Started explaining. And he was good at it.
Not condescending. Not slow. Just clear. He asked questions and waited for answers. He didn't fill the silence when you were thinking. He let you struggle until you got it.
A hour in, you understood p-values.
"This shouldn't make sense."
"But it does."
He capped the marker. "Same time Wednesday."
"Yeah."
"Try not to be so angry next time."
"I'm not angry. You grabbed your bag. Walked toward the stairs.
"Hey," he called. You turned.
Jake was leaning against the whiteboard, arms crossed. "You're not stupid. You just don't like being bad at things. There's a difference."
"That's like the second time you've said that."
"Because you keep needing to hear it."
You left. But you thought about it the whole walk home.
The sessions blurred together. Two weeks. Four sessions. Then six.
You stopped fighting it somewhere around session three. Not because you'd given up but because you'd started to actually get it. The material made sense when Jake explained it. He had a way of breaking things down that didn't make you feel like an idiot.
He was still cocky. Still insufferable. Still looked at you like he knew something you didn't.
But you weren't snapping at him anymore. You were learning.
"You're different," Karina said one day at lunch.
"I'm not different."
"You smiled at your phone. Three times. In a row."
"I was looking at memes."
"You were texting Jake."
"I was texting Jake about homework." You threw a fry at her.
Giselle watched the exchange with amusement. "She's not wrong. You've been in a good mood lately."
"I'm in a normal mood."
"You failed a midterm and you're being tutored by a fuckboy. You should be miserable."
"Maybe I've accepted my fate."
You were mid-bite into your sandwich when a shadow fell over the table.
"Hey."
You looked up. Jake was standing there. Holding your jacket.
The jacket you'd left at his apartment two days ago after a session that ran late. The jacket you'd completely forgotten about until this exact moment.
"You left this," he said. "You keep leaving things at my place."
"I don't do it on purpose."
"Sure you don't."
He set the jacket on the table. His fingers brushed yours. Too long to be accidental.
Everyone was watching. Not just Karina and Giselle, who had both gone completely still. But the tables around you. The people walking past. The girl at the fountain who'd been trying to get Jake's attention for weeks.
Wonyoung. She was standing near your table, coffee in hand, eyes locked on you. On the jacket. On the way Jake was looking at you.
"Thanks," you said, pulling the jacket toward you.
"See you Thursday," Jake said. He walked away.
The second he was out of earshot, Karina slammed her hands on the table and screamed.
"What the fuck was that!?"
"Nothing."
"That was not nothing. That was something. He brought you your jacket. He remembered your jacket. He came to find you to give you your jacket."
"He's polite."
"He's not polite. He's a fuckboy. Fuckboys don't return jackets. They keep them as trophies."
Giselle was staring at you. "You've been to his apartment."
"For tutoring."
"You're lying."
"I'm not"
"Y/N." Karina grabbed your wrist. "Look at me. Are you sleeping with him?"
"No!"
"Are you going to sleep with him?"
"I don't- I haven't- I don't know."
Karina and Giselle exchanged a look.
"Oh my God," Giselle whispered. "She likes him."
"I don't like him."
"You like him."
"I tolerate him."
Across the courtyard, Wonyoung was still watching.
She found you after class two days later.
You were walking across campus, earbuds in, not paying attention, when a hand grabbed your arm.
You spun around. Wonyoung.
"What the hell?" you said, pulling your arm back.
"Sorry." She didn't look sorry. "I need to talk to you."
"About?"
"Jake."
You sighed. "I don't have time for this."
"It'll take two minutes."
You looked at her. She was smaller than you remembered. Prettier, too, in a polished, intentional way. Her nails were done. Her hair was curled. She looked like she'd stepped out of a magazine.
"Fine," you said. "Talk."
"What's going on with you and Jake?"
"Nothing."
"He brought you your jacket."
"He's my tutor. He was being nice."
Wonyoung's eyes narrowed. "Jake isn't nice."
"Then why do you want him so badly?"
The question caught her off guard. Her composure cracked, just slightly.
"I've been trying to get his attention for months," she said. "Months. And he's never looked at me the way he looks at you."
You didn't know what to say to that.
"I'm not trying to be mean," Wonyoung continued. "I just want to know. Are you together? Is that a thing?"
"We're not together."
"But you want to be."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
She stepped back. Crossed her arms. "Fine. Whatever. Just... don't waste him. If you're not serious about him, let him go."
"I don't think Jake Sim is the kind of guy you need to protect."
"Maybe not." Wonyoung turned to walk away. Then stopped. "But you're not the only one who sees something in him."
She left.
You stood there for a long moment.
Then you pulled out your phone.
You: Some girl just cornered me about you.
Jake: Which one?
You: Wonyoung.
Jake: Ah.
You: That's all you have to say?
Jake: She's harmless.
You: She wants you.
Jake: A lot of people want me.
You: Cocky.
Jake: Honest.
You: Same thing.
Jake: Different font.
You almost smiled.
Jake: See you Thursday.
You: See you Thursday.
You brought it up during your next session.
Not on purpose. It just slipped out.
"So Wonyoung," you said, not looking up from your notebook.
Jake didn't look up either. "What about her?"
"You two have history?"
"Define history."
"I saw her at that party cuddled up with you."
He paused. Then set his pen down. "That was before we started tutoring."
"So?"
"So, nothing. She was there. I was there. It didn't mean anything."
"It looked like it meant something."
Jake leaned back in his chair. Studied you. "Are you jealous?"
"I'm not jealous."
"Your face is red." Jake smiled. Slow. "You're jealous."
"I'm not jealous. I'm... curious."
"About my romantic history?"
"About whether you're going to keep doing that while you're supposed to be tutoring me."
"Would it bother you if I did?"
You looked at him. Really looked."Yes," you said.
The word hung in the air.
Jake didn't smile. Didn't tease. He just looked at you, and something shifted in his expression. Something softer.
"Good," he said.
"Good?"
"Good that it would bother you." He picked up his pen. "It would bother me too. If it were the other way around."
You didn't know what to say to that. So you looked back down at your notebook and pretended to study.
But you could feel him watching you. And for the first time, you didn't hate it.
It happened after a late session.
You'd been studying for three hours. Your brain was fried. Your eyes were tired. And Jake had been looking at you all night like you were something he wanted to eat.
"You're staring," you said.
"I'm thinking."
"About what?"
"About how you bite your lip when you're concentrating."
Your pen stopped moving.
"Don't," you said.
"Don't what?"
"Don't say things like that."
"Why not?"
"Because we're supposed to be studying."
"We've been studying for three hours. Take a break."
"I don't need a break."
"You do." He stood up. Walked around the table. Leaned against it, right next to your chair. "You've been tensing your shoulders for the last hour. You haven't blinked in thirty seconds. You need a break."
"I need to pass this class."
"You will. But tonight you need to relax."
You looked up at him. He was close. Too close.
"And how do you suggest I do that?"
Jake's hand came up to your face. Slow. Deliberate. His thumb brushed your lower lip. "Let me," he said.
"Why?"
"Because I want to."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you need."
You should have said no. You should have packed your bag and walked out and gone home and thought about this in the morning. Instead, you kissed him.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't tentative. It was hungry and frustrated and tasted like every argument you'd been having for weeks. His hands were in your hair. Your hands were on his chest. He pulled you up from the chair and pressed you against the table.
"There she is," he murmured against your mouth.
"Shut up."
"Make me."
You kissed him harder.
He laughed. Then his hands were under your shirt and your hands were in his hair and you had never wanted anyone the way you wanted him right now.
"Bedroom," he said.
"Yeah."
He took your hand.
His bedroom was dark. The sheets were rumpled. It smelled like him, clean, with something underneath that you couldn't name. He pushed the door closed and turned to look at you.
"Last chance," he said.
"For what?"
"To change your mind."
"I'm not going to change my mind."
He kissed you again. Slower this time. His hands slid under your shirt, palms flat against your ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra. You gasped against his mouth.
"Tell me what you want," he said.
"I want you to stop talking."
"That's not how this works." He pulled back. Looked at you. His eyes were dark. Serious. "I need to hear you say it."
"Say what?"
"Say you want this. Say you want me. Not because you're stressed. Not because of the tutoring. Because you've been thinking about this as much as I have."
Your heart was pounding.
"How do you know I've been thinking about it?"
"Because you're here. Because you kissed me first. Because you're looking at me right now like you want to climb inside my skin." He tilted his head. "Am I wrong?"
You grabbed his shirt and pulled him close.
"I want you," you said against his mouth. "I've wanted you since the party. Since the first session. Since you said good girl like it meant something."
"It meant something."
"Then show me."
He took his time. Unhurried. Every touch deliberate. Every kiss slower than the last. You tried to rush him. You grabbed at his belt, tugged at his shirt, tried to flip him over. He caught your wrists. Held them above your head.
"Not yet," he said. Voice low. Firm.
"Jake-"
"I've been waiting for this." His lips brushed your ear. "I'm not going to rush. You're not going to rush. You're going to take what I give you. Understood?"
You glared at him. "You're not the boss of me."
"Tonight I am."
"That's cute."
He squeezed your wrists. Not hard. Just enough. "You want to test me? Go ahead. But you're not going to win."
"You're insufferable."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
He smiled. Then he released your wrists and his mouth was on your neck, your collarbone, lower. He kissed down your stomach, your hips, your thighs. He took his time there too, mouthing at the sensitive skin, breathing hot against you.
"You're so tense," he murmured.
"I'm not tense."
"You're shaking."
"I'm cold."
"You're not cold."
He looked up at you. Held your gaze. Then he lowered his mouth where you wanted him most.
You gasped. Your hands flew to his hair.
"That's it," he said against you. "Hold on."
He worked you slowly, deliberately, watching your face the whole time. Every time you got close, he pulled back. Every time you whined, he smiled.
"Please," you finally said.
"Please what?"
"Please don't stop."
"Good girl."
He didn't stop.
His mouth was everywhere tongue flat against you, then pointed, then circling exactly where you needed him most. He groaned against your skin like he was the one getting pleased, like tasting you was his reward, not yours. His hands pinned your hips down when you tried to squirm away, holding you open for him, taking his time. He wasn't in a rush. He wanted to watch you fall apart.
When you came, you came hard, back arching off the bed, his name falling out of your mouth like a prayer. He didn't let you recover. He kissed up your body, slow and lazy, like he had all the time in the world.
You reached for him, pulled him up, tried to flip him onto his back.
He didn't move.
"Not yet," he said.
"Jake-"
"You think we're done?" He pressed his forehead to yours. His breath was hot. His voice was low. "We're just getting started."
"Then what are you waiting for?"
He smiled. Slow. Dangerous.
"Pop quiz."
You blinked. "What?"
He pulled back. Sat up on his knees. Looked down at you spread out beneath him flushed, wet, still shaking from your orgasm.
"You've been learning a lot in our sessions," he said. "But I want to make sure you're paying attention."
"To statistics?"
"To me."
He reached for his belt. Unbuckled it slowly. Pulled it free from the loops.
"This is a different kind of lesson," he said. "But the rules are the same. I ask a question. You answer. If you get it right, you get rewarded."
"And if I get it wrong?"
He folded the belt in half. Tapped it against his palm.
"You get punished."
You moaned, your stomach flipped. Heat pooled low in your belly.
"What kind of questions?"
"We'll start easy." He leaned down, kissed your neck, bit softly at your collarbone. "What's the formula for a confidence interval?"
"You're joking."
"I never joke about education."
You stared at him. He stared back. His eyes were dark. Serious. Waiting.
"Sample mean," you said slowly, "plus or minus the critical value times the standard error."
"Good job."
He kissed you. Deep. Rewarding. His hand slid between your legs, fingers finding you already wet, already ready.
"That's one," he said against your mouth. "Want another?"
"Yes."
"Then pay attention."
He flipped you onto your stomach. Pulled your hips up. The belt was still in his hand.
"What's a Type I error?" he asked.
"False positive," you said quickly. "Rejecting a true null hypothesis."
"Good."
He pushed into you from behind. No warning. No slow build. Just full, deep, stretching you open. You cried out, fingers gripping the sheets.
"Jake- fuck"
"That's one point." He pulled out almost all the way. Held there. "What's a Type II error?"
You couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. He was barely inside you, just the tip, and you could feel yourself clenching around nothing.
"Jake, please-"
"Wrong answer."
The belt came down on your ass. Not hard enough to bruise. Hard enough to sting. You gasped.
"Type II error," he said calmly. "False negative. Failing to reject a false null hypothesis." He pushed back in, slow, torturous. "Try again."
"Type II-" You couldn't focus. He was moving now, shallow thrusts, not enough. "Type II is false negative-"
"Full sentence."
"Type II error is failing to reject- fuck- failing to reject a false null hypothesis."
"Good fucking girl."
He snapped his hips forward. Hard. Deep. You moaned into the pillow.
"You want another question?"
"Yes Jakey please"
"What's the difference between a one-tailed and a two-tailed test?"
You knew this. But he was fucking you now, really fucking you, and every thrust pushed the answer further out of your brain.
"A one-tailed-" He hit a spot that made your vision white out. "A one-tailed tests in one direction- two-tailed tests both-"
"Both what?"
"Both directions-"
"And when do you use each?"
"I don't- fuck, Jake- I can't-"
The belt came down again. Harder this time.
"Incorrect," he said. His voice was colder now. Disappointed. "You're not even trying."
"I am trying-"
"You're distracted." He pulled out. Flipped you onto your back. Stared down at you. "You're so fucked out you can't even answer basic questions."
Your face burned. From the sex. From the shame. From the way he was looking at you.
"I'm sorry," you whispered.
"Sorry isn't good enough."
He grabbed your chin. Forced you to look at him.
"You wanted this. You wanted me. Now you're going to take what I give you and you're going to earn it."
"Yes Jake"
"Shut up."
He pushed back inside you. Harder than before. Faster. His hand closed around your throat not squeezing, just holding, just reminding you who was in charge.
"I've been patient," he said, fucking you with each word. "I've been nice. I've let you be bratty and difficult and act like you're too good for this. But right now? Right now you're just a girl on her back, taking my cock because she can't handle a few simple questions."
Your eyes watered. From the sting. From the heat. From the way his words were making you feel things you didn't want to name.
"Say it," he said.
"Say what-"
"Say you're mine. Right now. In this bed. You're fucking mine."
"Mmm I'm yours-"
"Louder."
"I'm yours Jake, all yours."
He kissed you. Bruising. Claiming. His hand moved from your throat to your hair, pulling, tilting your head back.
"One more question," he said. "Get it right and I'll let you cum."
"Okay-"
"What's the probability that I'm going to stop until you've cum at least three more times?"
You blinked at him.
"That's not a real question-"
"Wrong answer."
He pulled out. Flipped you over again. Pulled your hips up and drove back in, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks.
You came without warning. Without permission. Your body just broke, clenching around him, sobbing into the pillow.
He didn't stop.
"That's one," he said. "Two more to go."
"Jake- I can't-"
"You can. And you fucking will slut."
He fucked you through it. Through the oversensitivity, through the tears, through the way your arms gave out and your face pressed into the mattress.
When you came again, it was on his command. His voice in your ear. And your body obeyed.
"You're learning," he said.
He pulled out. Rolled you onto your back one last time. Stared down at you all wrecked, crying, completely undone.
"One more," he said.
"Fuck I can't-"
"You can."
He pushed back inside you. Slow this time. Gentle. His thumb found your clit and circled softly, coaxing, not demanding.
"Look at me," he said.
You looked at him.
His face was different now. Softer. His eyes were dark but not cold. He pulled you on top of him while watching you like you were something precious.
"Cum for me," he said quietly. "One more time. Nice and slow."
You came apart rolling your hips, letting it wash over you. He followed right after, buried deep, forehead pressed to yours.
Neither of you moved.
His hand came up to your face. Wiped your tears.
"You did good," he said.
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
"No," you agreed. "I don't."
He pulled out. Pulled you against his chest. Wrapped his arms around you.
"Same time tomorrow?" he asked.
"For tutoring?"
"For whatever you want."
You laughed. It came out weak.
"Yeah," you said. "Same time tomorrow."
After that first night, something shifted.
Not dramatically. Not with words or labels or awkward conversations. It just happened. Slowly. Naturally.
Tutoring sessions still happened. Twice a week, sometimes three times. Jake still explained statistics with that infuriating calm, and you still rolled your eyes and snapped at him when he got too cocky. But now, when the session ended, you didn't leave right away.
The first time you stayed, it was because you were tired. Really tired. You'd been up late studying for a different exam, and when Jake finished explaining p-values for the third time, you put your head down on the table and didn't pick it back up.
"You can't sleep here," he said.
"I'm not sleeping. I'm resting my eyes."
"You're snoring."
"I don't snore."
"You're snoring right now."
You lifted your head just enough to glare at him. He was smiling with a shine to his eyes.
"Come on," he said. "The couch is more comfortable."
That was the first night you fell asleep on his couch. He threw a blanket over you and sat on the floor next to you, grading papers by the light of his laptop. When you woke up at 2 AM, he was asleep sitting up, head tilted back, mouth slightly open.
You should have gone home.
You didn't.
You pulled him down onto the couch next to you, and he wrapped an arm around you without waking up, and you fell back asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.
After that, it became a thing.
Some nights you slept together the real kind, the messy kind, the kind that left you breathless and sore and smiling into the dark. Other nights you just watched movies. He liked action. You liked horror. You compromised on thrillers and spent most of the time arguing about the plot.
He made you popcorn on the stove, not the microwave, because he was "not a savage." You made fun of him for it. Then you ate three servings.
You never talked about what you were.
Not once.
You were tutoring. You were sleeping together. You were cuddling on his couch at 1 AM, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm, your head on his chest.
But you weren't together.
Or maybe you were. Neither of you said it.
Karina asked. Of course she did.
"So," she said one day at lunch, "are you guys like... together together?"
"I don't know."
"How do you not know?"
"Because we haven't talked about it."
"You've slept together multiple times."
"I'm aware."
"You cuddle?"
"...Yes."
"You text him good morning?"
"That's private."
"That's a yes." Karina leaned back. "You're together. You just haven't admitted it yet."
"We're not not together."
"What does that even mean?"
"It means I don't know what it means."
Giselle snorted. "That's the most non answer I've ever heard."
But they weren't wrong. Something had changed. You felt it every time Jake looked at you. Every time his hand found yours under the table. Every time he said good night like he meant stay.
You just didn't know how to name it.
Neither did he.
Jake's friends noticed before he did.
Or maybe they noticed first. He'd been different lately. Softer. He laughed more. He checked his phone more. He left parties early without explanation.
"You're whipped," Sunghoon said.
"I'm not whipped."
"You left Jay's party at 10 PM because she texted you."
"I was tired."
"You've never been tired at parties."
Jake didn't have an answer for that.
They were at their usual table on campus, halfway through lunch. Jay was picking at his food. Heeseung was scrolling on his phone.
"So," Jay said, "are you going to ask her out or what?"
"We're already... doing things."
"Doing things isn't dating."
"We watch movies."
"That's not dating either."
"We sleep together."
Jay raised his eyebrows. "Okay, that's closer. But still not dating."
Jake ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know what we are."
"Then ask her."
"It's not that simple."
"Why not?"
Because he was scared. Because he'd never done this before. Because every time he looked at you, he felt something he couldn't name, and naming it made it real, and real meant he could lose it.
"Because," he said.
"Great reason."
Heeseung looked up from his phone. "You like her."
"I know I like her."
"Then do something about it."
Jake was quiet for a moment. Then he stood up.
"Where are you going?" Sunghoon asked.
"To find her. She has class in twenty minutes. I'm going to walk with her."
Jay cheered. "That's adorable."
"Shut up."
"You're blushing."
"I'm not blushing."
Jake flipped him off and walked away.
Behind him, he heard Sunghoon say, "Told you. Whipped."
He didn't turn around.
You were sitting on a bench near the science building, Karina on one side and Giselle on the other, when the topic of Jake came up.
It always came up lately.
"So," Karina said, kicking your foot, "have you guys talked about it yet?"
"Talked about what?"
"About what you are."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't know what to say."
Giselle leaned in. "You could start with 'I like you.'"
"I don't even know if he wants that."
Karina stared at you. "Are you serious?"
"What?"
"He cuddles you. He makes you popcorn. He walked you home in the rain last week. He looks at you like you hung the moon."
"He looks at everyone like that."
"He absolutely does not. I've seen him look at other girls. He looks at them like he's deciding what to order for dinner. He looks at you like he's already eaten and he's still hungry."
Giselle nodded. "She's right. He's down bad."
"He's not down bad."
"He texted you good morning every day for two weeks."
You laughed. "You guys are insane."
"We're realistic. You're the one who's in denial."
"Fine. Maybe I like him."
"Maybe?"
"Okay. I like him."
"And?" Karina prompted.
"And... I don't know what to do about it."
"You could start by not hiding it."
"I'm not hiding it."
"You literally just whispered 'I like him' like it was a secret."
"It's not a secret."
"Then say it louder."
"I like him," you said, normal volume.
"Louder."
"I like him!"
"And?"
"I like Jake Sim!."
"And?"
"And I want him to be my boyfriend!."
The words echoed across the courtyard.
You froze.
Because standing ten feet away, right at the edge of the path, was Jake.
He had his hands in his pockets. His head was tilted. And he was smiling.
"Is that so?" he asked.
Your face went red. Karina and Giselle dissolved into giggles behind you.
"Jake-" you started.
"I like you too, by the way." He walked closer. Stopped in front of you. "And I want to be your boyfriend."
"You heard that?"
"Everyone heard that."
You looked around. A few people were staring. Someone was openly filming.
"Oh my God."
"Yeah." Jake was still smiling. "So. Boyfriend?"
"Shut up."
"Is that a yes?"
"It's a shut up."
"I'll take that as a yes."
He leaned down and kissed you. Right there. In front of everyone. Karina whooped. Giselle clapped.
When he pulled back, your face was somehow even redder.
"I hate you," you said.
"No, you don't."
"You're right," you agreed.
"Good. Now walk me to class."
"You walk me to class."
He laughed. Took your hand. Pulled you up from the bench.
"See you later," he said to Karina and Giselle.
You didn't look back. Jake's hand was warm in yours.
"So," he said. "Boyfriend."
"Don't push it."
"Too late. I'm pushing it."
"You're insufferable."
"Your insufferable boyfriend."
You stopped walking. Looked at him.
"My boyfriend," you said.
"Yeah."
"Like, officially?"
"Like officially."
You kissed him again. Quick. Soft.
"Wow that was easy hmm okay," you said.
"Okay?"
"Okay, boyfriend."
He grinned.
"Now walk me to class," you said.
"Yes, ma'am."
He didn't let go of your hand the whole way.
You were exhausted.
Not because you hadn't slept. You had. But you'd slept with Jake, which meant you'd stayed up late talking, then not talking, then talking again. By the time you actually fell asleep, it was almost 3 AM.
Now you were in Professor Lee's lecture, and your eyelids were winning the war.
You rested your head on your hand. Blinked. Blinked again.
Your eyes closed.
"You're falling asleep," a voice whispered.
Jake. He was sitting next to you. He'd started sitting next to you in every class you shared, which was three. He said it was "strategic." You said it was "clingy."
"I'm not falling asleep," you murmured. "I'm resting my eyes."Your head slipped off your hand. You caught yourself just before it hit the desk.
Jake laughed quietly.
"Go away," you mumbled.
"No."
"Then let me sleep."
"You can't sleep in class."
"Watch me."
You put your head down on the desk. Your eyes closed. The professor's voice faded into background noise.
You were almost there. Almost asleep.
Then you felt it.
Jake's hand on your thigh.
You didn't move. Didn't react. Maybe he was just...
His hand slid higher. Your eyes opened.
"Jake," you whispered.
"Shh."
"What are you doing?"
"Keeping you awake."
"This isn't keeping me awake."
His fingers found the button of your jeans. Your breath caught.
"Stop," you whispered.
"Do you want me to stop?"
You didn't answer. He took that as a no.
Jake's fingers worked the button of your jeans open. Slow. Deliberate. Like he had all the time in the world.
You should have stopped him.
You were in class. In the third row. Professor Lee was ten feet away, droning on about statistical significance. There were people on either side of you. People behind you. People who could look up at any moment and see exactly what was happening.
You should have stopped him.
You didn't.
His hand slipped inside your jeans. Past the waistband of your underwear. His fingers were warm, fingertips rough against your skin, and he moved with the confidence of someone who already knew exactly where to touch.
"You're wet," he murmured, so quiet only you could hear.
"Jake."
"You've been thinking about this?"
"No."
"Liar."
His finger circled your clit. Once. Twice. You bit your lip to keep from making a sound.
"Look at me," he said.
You turned your head. His eyes were dark. Focused. That stupid smirk was gone, replaced by something hungrier.
"Don't make a sound," he said.
"I won't."
He slid a finger inside you.
Your hand flew to your mouth. You pressed your knuckles against your lips, breathing hard through your nose. The professor kept talking. No one looked back. No one knew.
Except Jake.
He added a second finger. Curled them. Hit a spot that made your vision blur.
"Jake," you breathed.
"Shh."
"Someone's going to see."
"Then you'd better be quiet love."
He pumped his fingers slowly, deliberately, watching your face the whole time. His thumb pressed against your clit with every thrust. You were gripping the edge of the desk so hard your knuckles were white.
"So tight," he murmured. "You're going to cum already?"
"No."
"You're close. I can feel it."
"You can't-"
"I can feel everything." He leaned closer. His lips brushed your ear. "I can feel how much you want this. How much you want me. You're dripping down my fingers princess."
Your face burned. Your body burned. Everything burned.
"Please," you whispered.
"Please what?"
"Please don't stop."
He didn't.
His fingers moved faster. Harder. His thumb pressed down. You were shaking, legs trembling under the desk, teeth sinking into your knuckle to muffle the sounds.
"That's it," he whispered. "Cum for me. Right here. In class. With everyone watching."
It ripped through you, sudden and violent, your back arching, your eyes squeezing shut. You bit down so hard on your hand you left marks. Jake's fingers kept moving, working you through it, prolonging it until you were nothing but static.
When you finally opened your eyes, he was smiling.
"I hate you."
"You just came on my fingers in the middle of class."You're going to thank me later."
He pulled his hand out of your jeans. Slowly. Deliberately. And then still watching you he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean.
One by one.
His eyes never left yours. You forgot how to breathe.
"Jake," you said. Your voice came out strangled.
"Yeah?"
"We need to leave."
"Class isn't over."
"I don't care."
"You don't?"
"No."
You stood up. Grabbed your bag. Your legs were still shaking. Jake watched you with that infuriating calm, like he knew exactly what was coming next.
"Y/N," he said.
"Get up Jake."
"Where are we going?"
"Bathroom. Janitor's closet. Your car. I don't care. Get up."
He stood. Sling his bag over his shoulder. His hand found the small of your back as you walked toward the door. Professor Lee didn't even look up.
The second you were in the hallway, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the stairwell.
"Impatient," he said.
"Shut up."
"You dragged me out of class."
"Shut up."
"You must really want-"
You pushed him against the wall of the stairwell and kissed him. Hard. His hands went to your waist. Yours went to his belt.
"Someone could come in," he said against your mouth.
"Then you'd better be quiet."
He laughed. "Learning from me?"
"You started it in class."
"I was keeping you awake."
"You think you're funny," you said while dropping to your knees.
Jake's breath hitched.
"Oh," he said.
"Yeah. Oh."
Your hands found his belt. Unbuckled it. Pulled it open. His jeans came next, then his boxers, and he was already hard, already leaking, already looking down at you like he couldn't believe this was happening.
"You've been thinking about this," you said.
"Every day."
"Every session?"
"Every single one."
You wrapped your hand around him. Stroked once. Twice. He groaned, head falling back against the wall.
"Shh," you said. "Be quiet."
"You be quiet."
"I'm not the one who's going to make noise."
"You're about to be."
You leaned forward. Took him in your mouth.
His hand flew to your hair. Not pushing. Just holding. Just feeling.
You started slow. Teasing. Tongue flat against the underside, then pointed, then circling the tip. He tasted like salt and soap and something else you couldn't name.
"Jesus," he breathed.
You pulled off. Looked up at him.
"If I can be quiet during class," you said, "you can be quiet in a stairwell."
"That's different-"
His grip tightened in your hair. "You're evil," he said.
"You like it."
"I hate it."
"No, you don't."
You took him again. Deeper this time. He groaned, low and rough, and you felt it in your chest.
You set a rhythm. Slow. Deliberate. Every time he got close to the edge, you pulled back. Let him cool down. Started again.
He was a mess in your hands. Leaning against the wall, head back, jaw slack, breathing in short, sharp gasps.
"You're killing me," he whispered.
You took him deeper. Swallowed around him. His hips jerked.
"Fuck-"
A door opened above you.
Footsteps. Echoing down the stairs.
Someone was coming.
Jake's eyes flew open. He reached for your shoulders, tried to pull you off.
"Stop," he whispered. "Someone's-"
You didn't stop.
"Y/N-"
You looked up at him. Didn't let go. Didn't slow down.
His face was going through all kinds of emotions. Fear and pleasure and something darker, something hungrier. He was frozen, torn between pushing you away and holding you there.
The footsteps got closer.
Jake clamped a hand over his own mouth.
You smiled around him.
The footsteps passed. A door opened. Closed.
Silence.
Jake pulled you off by your hair. Not hard. Just enough.
"You didn't stop," he said.
"And?"
His eyes were black. His chest was heaving.
"You're going to regret that," he said.
"No, I'm not."
He grabbed you by the jaw and pressed you against the wall, back to concrete, his body flush against your chest.
"You think you're in control," he said into your ear.
"I know I am."
"You're not."
His hand fisted in your hair. Tilted your head back.
"Open," he said.
You opened your mouth.
He pushed inside. Not gentle. Not slow. Rough and deep and exactly what you'd been waiting for.
"You wanted to play," he said, thrusting into your mouth. "Now you're going to finish what you started."
His hand held you in place. His hips snapped forward. He fucked your mouth like he'd been holding back the whole time and he had finally snapped.
You gagged. Tears pricked your eyes. You didn't pull away.
"That's it," he groaned. "That's my girl."
He was messy. Sloppy. Spit dripped down your chin. He didn't care. Neither did you.
"I'm close," he said. "You're going to take all of it like a champ right?"
You looked up at him. Nodded as best you could.
He came with a choked sound, buried deep in your throat, and you swallowed everything. Didn't miss a drop.
He pulled out. Stepped back to admire you.
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Looked up at him.
He was wrecked. Hair a mess. Chest still heaving. Looking at you like you'd just ruined him for anyone else.
"Good girl," he said, voice hoarse.
You stood up. Fixed your clothes. Fixed his.
"We're going to be late for class," you said.
"I don't care."
"You should care. You're a tutor."
"I'm your tutor." He kissed you. Soft this time. Almost sweet. He took your hand. Led you back toward the door.
"Same time tomorrow?" he asked.
"Same stairwell?"
"Same stairwell."
You laughed. Pushed the door open.
The hallway was empty.
No one knew what had just happened.
That was the best part, it was yours and Jakes dirty secret.
Parties weren't your thing anymore. Or maybe they were, but you'd rather be on Jake's couch, wrapped in his hoodie, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin while some terrible action movie played in the background.
But Jake had asked.
"Come with me," he'd said, tugging on the sleeve of his black button down. The one that made your brain short-circuit.
"Why?"
"Because I want to show you off."
"You want to show me off?"
"Yeah." He said it like it was obvious. "You're hot. I'm hot. We're hot together. People should know."
So now you were here.
The music was loud enough to feel in your teeth, and the lights were low enough that you could pretend no one was staring.
But they were staring.
Because you walked in with Jake's hand on your lower back, his fingers pressed into the curve of your waist, and everyone noticed.
That's Jake's girl.
Damn, they look good together.
You danced with Jake. You drank something sweet that he handed you. You met his friends properly met them, not just the passing introductions from before.
"I'm going to grab a drink. You want one?"
"Yeah. Same thing."
"Be right back."
He disappeared into the crowd.
That's when she found you.
"You think you're so special."
You turned. Wonyoung.
She was standing a few feet away, drink in hand, eyes sharp. She looked good she always looked good but there was something brittle about her tonight. Something desperate.
"Wonyoung," you said.
"Don't say my name like you know me."
"I don't know you. That's the point."
She stepped closer. "You think you've won."
"I'm not playing a game."
She stepped closer. Close enough that you could smell her perfume. "He's going to get bored of you," she said. "He gets bored of everyone. You're not special. You're just the one who said no first. That's all this is. A challenge. Once he wins, he'll move on."
"You already tried that line."
"Because it's true."
"It's not."
"How do you know?"
You tilted your head. "Because I'm here. And you're not."
Her face twisted. "You're such a bitch."
"And you're obsessed with my boyfriend. Which one's worse?"
"You're not even-"
"I'm not even what? His girlfriend?" You smiled. "I am. He asked. I said yes. Sorry you had to find out like this."
Wonyoung's face went red. Then white. Then red again.
"You're lying." She looked like she wanted to throw her drink in your face. You almost wished she would. At least then you'd have an excuse.
But before she could move, a hand landed on your waist. Jake.
"I leave for five minutes," he said, voice calm, "and you're already causing trouble."
"I'm not causing anything. She started it."
Jake looked at Wonyoung. His expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes went cold.
"Wonyoung," he said. "We've talked about this."
"Have we?" She laughed. "You've been ignoring me for weeks. You don't return my texts. You don't even look at me anymore."
"Because I have nothing to say to you."
"You had plenty to say before."
"That was before." He stepped closer to you. His hand stayed on your waist. "Before her."
Wonyoung's eyes flicked to you. Filled with something ugly.
"I'm going to say this once," Jake said. "Stay away from her. Stay away from me. If I hear about you coming near her again, talking to her, texting her, even looking at her I'm going to make sure everyone knows exactly what you've been doing."
"You wouldn't."
"Try me."
Wonyoung stared at him. Then at you. Then back at him.
"I loved you," she whispered.
"No." Jake shook his head. "You wanted to win me. There's a difference."
She didn't respond instead she turned and walked away.
Jake's hand was still on your waist. "You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah, she's not worth my energy."
He watched your face for a long moment. Looking for cracks. Finding none. You let the silence stretch. Let your heartbeat slow. Then you looked up at him.
"I've been meaning to tell you something."
"I got a 95 on the test."
Jake blinked. "What?"
"The exam. The one you've been tutoring me for. 95 percent."
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
"Show me."
You pulled out your phone. Opened the grade portal. Turned the screen toward him.
95. Right there. Jake stared at it. Then at you. Then back at the screen.
"You did that," he said.
"We did that."
"No." He shook his head. "You did that. I just explained things. You did the work."
"Jake-"
"95 percent." He was smiling now. The one that made your chest ache. "That's my girl."
Your face went warm. "Don't."
"My girl with the 95."
"Jake."
"My girl who's going to pass the class with flying colors because she's smarter than she gives herself credit for."
"Okay, okayyyy"
"My girl."
He kissed you.
Not hard. Not desperate. Soft. Slow. Like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
"I'm proud of you," he said. "Like, really proud."
"I know."
"Like, I'm going to tell everyone how proud I am."
"Please don't."
"Too late. I'm already texting Sunghoon."
"Jake!"
He was already typing. Grinning. You laughed. Hit his chest. He caught your hand and held it.
"Same time tomorrow?"
You looked at him. The cocky tutor who'd gotten under your skin. The guy who remembered your coffee order and mopped on Mondays and looked at you like you were the only person in the room.
heeseung swiftly gets up from his knees, bringing his fingers covered in your fluids past his lips to lick them clean. he lays a small kiss onto your cheek before settling upright on your shared bed, gesturing you to sit on top of him.
you hesitantly make your way on top of him, ‘don’t worry baby, i’ll help you’ he lets out a smile before guiding your hips to settle right on top of his hardness. a whimper escapes your mouth as your bare heat comes in contact with his jeans, you quickly help him take them off and align his length right between your legs. his hands never leave your waist, ‘ready?’ all you can do is nod your head in response, legs already trembling from his fingers.
he crashes his lips onto yours, tongue making its way past your lips as you sink down onto him. a long moan leaves your mouth before he quickly swallows it with his own mouth. you felt him all up in your organs, you felt so full your brain felt like it was melting from all the stimulation. you two stay like that for a minute, him letting you adjust to his size.
‘fuck- baby i can’t wait anymore’ heeseung finally starts moving your hips, guiding you to ride him. an occasional groan escapes his mouth as you squeeze him. the obscene sounds of wetness spreads throughout the room, the pleasure becomes too much for you. it didn’t take long for your eyes to start overflowing, his own eyes meet your glossy ones.
‘don’t cry- baby- shit’ he’s dangerously close, he latches his mouth onto your aching nipple while his free hand makes its way between your thighs. the triple stimulation throws you over the edge, instantly coming undone over him. he leaves one last kiss onto the side of your neck before releasing hot spurts of cum inside of you, filling you up as much as he could. you crash your head onto his shoulder, body becoming limp.
he lets his own hand glide up your bare spine to intertwine with your hair, both of your chest rising from your climaxes. ‘good girl’ he says breathlessly.
kiki’ thoughts: YOOOOOOI evan debut my vagina is shaking i’m so excited ‘ride or die 6.22’ I PICK RIDE I PICK RIDE
◟✿ heesung ˒ The dorm was wrapped in that late night hush, the kind that only came after long practices and schedules that stretched into the early hours. The faint hum of the air conditioner mixed with the distant city sounds filtering through the window. Heeseung had just showered, towel still draped around his neck, droplets of water tracing lazy paths down his toned chest and abs as he stepped into the bedroom. His hair was damp, messy in that effortlessly sexy way, and he wore nothing but loose black sweatpants that hung low on his hips.
You were already in his bed, wearing only his favorite oversized black shirt that barely reached mid thigh. The moment he closed the door behind him, you moved.You rose to your knees, caught his wrist, and pulled him down onto the mattress with you. Heeseung let out a soft, surprised chuckle, his deep voice rumbling.“Missed me that bad, baby?” he murmured, settling back against the pillows as you climbed over him.
But you didn’t answer with words. Instead, your hand slipped into his sweatpants, wrapping around his half hard length. He inhaled sharply, eyes fluttering for a second as you stroked him slowly to full hardness. Within moments he was thick and heavy in your palm, veins pulsing under your fingers. You pushed his waistband down just enough, positioned yourself over him, and sank down in one smooth, deliberate motion.
Heeseung’s cock stretched you open, filling you completely until your ass rested against his thighs, every inch buried deep inside your warm, wet heat. No thrusts no bouncing just staying perfectly still with him sheathed to the hilt.
“Fuck—” Heeseung’s voice broke into a low groan, his hands flying to your hips instantly, fingers digging into the soft flesh as if to ground himself. His eyes widened, dark and intense, locking onto yours with that signature leader intensity. His chest rose and fell rapidly, breath already ragged. “Y/N you’re so fucking warm so tight around me right now.”
For a long moment, neither of you moved. The only sounds were your mingled breathing and the faint wet sound of your bodies adjusting to each other. Heeseung’s cock twitched hard inside you, thickening even more at the sudden enveloping heat. You could feel every ridge, every vein, the way his pulse beat steadily against your inner walls. Your own pussy fluttered involuntarily around him, clenching and releasing in little pulses that made his jaw tighten.
Heeseung’s hands slid up under the shirt you wore his shirt—tracing the curve of your waist, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. “You initiating this?” he whispered, voice dropping into that dangerously low register that always sent shivers down your spine. A slow, predatory smirk tugged at his lips, the one that made fans scream and made your stomach twist with want. “No warning, just sliding down on my cock like you own it my greedy girl I love it.”
He pulled you closer until your chests pressed together, your nipples hardening against him through the thin fabric. His lips found your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, sucking gently at your pulse point. Every tiny shift of your body caused delicious friction—his cock nudging deeper without any real thrusting. Heeseung let out a shaky exhale against your skin.
“Stay still like this for me,” he murmured, one hand moving to cup the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. “I want to feel everything how wet you’re getting how you’re squeezing me.” He flexed his hips in the tiniest circle, barely perceptible, but enough to make you both gasp. “Shit, you feel incredible like velvet fire around my cock.”
Minutes stretched out. Heeseung was always patient in moments like this teasing, savoring, drawing out the pleasure until it bordered on torture. He kept you locked in place with strong arms, his body heat mingling with yours. His free hand roamed lazily: squeezing your ass, tracing your spine, rolling a nipple between his fingers until you whimpered softly. Each sound you made earned you a deep, appreciative groan from him.
“You’re dripping down my balls already,” he observed in that husky tone, voice vibrating against your ear. He reached between your bodies just enough to feel where you were joined, collecting some of your slick on his fingers and bringing them to his mouth. His eyes never left yours as he licked them clean. “Taste so sweet for me all this just from having me inside you?”
The praise made you clench harder around him. Heeseung’s head fell back against the pillow, exposing the sharp line of his jaw and the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed thickly. “That’s it keep doing that. Milk my cock while we stay like this.” His restraint was impressive, but you could feel the tension coiling in his muscles—the way his thighs trembled slightly beneath you, the constant subtle twitches of his length buried deep.
He kissed you then—slow, deep, and filthy. His tongue slid against yours in the same unhurried rhythm he used when he wanted to drive you crazy. One hand stayed on your hip, holding you down firmly so you couldn’t ride him even if you tried. The other tangled in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. When he pulled back, a string of saliva connected your lips for a second.
“I’ve thought about this,” he confessed quietly, forehead pressed to yours. “Coming home and having you warm my cock while we talk about our day feeling you pulse around me for hours.” His voice was pure velvet. “You’re perfect so fucking perfect for me.”
Time blurred ten minutes fifteen twenty. Heeseung kept up the intimate conversation, whispering filthy observations mixed with sweet nothings. How your walls fluttered when he praised you. How he could feel you getting wetter with every passing second. How much he loved being this connected, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. Occasionally he’d roll his hips in minute movements just enough to grind against that sensitive spot inside you without breaking the cockwarming stillness.
Your breathing grew heavier, matching his. Sweat began to bead on his chest where your bodies pressed together. Heeseung’s eyes were half lidded, dark with lust, but there was also that soft affection he reserved only for you the way he stroked your cheek with his thumb, the gentle kisses he pressed to your temple.
“You’re shaking,” he noted with a soft laugh, the sound low and affectionate. “Am I that deep, baby? Filling you up so good you can’t even think?” He flexed again, deliberately this time, making his cock jump inside you. The sensation drew a broken moan from your throat. Heeseung’s smirk widened. “Good girl let me hear you.”
The tension built unbearably. Your clit throbbed against his pelvis, aching for friction, but he kept you pinned, savoring the slow burn. Heeseung’s breathing was ragged now, control fraying at the edges. His hands gripped you tighter, almost bruising.
“I don’t know how much longer I can stay still,” he admitted, voice strained. “You feel too fucking good so hot and tight sucking me in like you never want me to leave.” He kissed you again, harder this time, more desperate. His hips gave a small, involuntary thrust upward, pushing him impossibly deeper.
You clenched hard in response, and Heeseung groaned loudly, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “Fuck, do that again.” When you did, his resolve cracked. He rolled you both suddenly, still connected, pinning you beneath his larger frame without ever pulling out. The new position let him press even deeper, the head of his cock nudging against your cervix.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly, elbows braced on either side of your head. His damp hair fell forward, framing his handsome face. “I need to move now need to fuck you properly after feeling you warm me for so long.”
What followed was intense. Heeseung started with slow, deep thrusts pulling out just enough to feel your walls drag along his length before sliding back home. Each stroke was deliberate, savoring the glide. His pace gradually increased, hips snapping with controlled power. The wet sounds of your bodies meeting filled the room, mixed with his low grunts and your moans.
“You started this,” he panted against your neck, biting down gently. “Taking my cock like that the second I walked in such a naughty girl.” One hand slipped between you, thumb circling your clit in tight spirals. “Come for me while I’m inside you want to feel you fall apart around my cock.”
The orgasm hit you hard, walls spasming violently around him. Heeseung cursed, burying his face in your shoulder as he fucked you through it, prolonging the pleasure. His own release followed soon after deep, powerful thrusts that pushed him to the hilt as he spilled inside you, groaning your name in that beautiful, wrecked voice.
Afterwards, he didn’t pull out immediately. Heeseung stayed buried deep, collapsing half on top of you with his weight comforting rather than crushing. He pressed soft kisses to your face, your lips, your eyelids, whispering praises.
“You’re amazing,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “I love when you take control like that. Love feeling so close to you.” His fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin as you both came down, still intimately connected. The afterglow stretched long, warm, and full of quiet affection.
Heeseung eventually shifted to lie on his side, pulling you with him so you stayed spooned together, his cock softening but still nestled inside you. “We’re sleeping like this tonight,” he decided with a sleepy, satisfied smile. “Don’t want to lose this feeling.”
The room grew quiet again, filled only with your synced breathing and the occasional soft kiss. Heeseung held you like you were the most precious thing in his world leader, lover, and the man who had just been completely undone by your bold initiation.
◟✿ jay ˒ The living room in the dorm was dimly lit, the only light coming from the large TV screen paused on Jay’s game. The rest of the members had gone to bed or out, leaving the space quiet except for the low hum of the city outside and the occasional click of the controller. Jay was sprawled on the wide couch in black sweatpants and a loose white tee, one arm draped over the backrest, looking effortlessly handsome with his sharp jawline and focused dark eyes. His hair was slightly tousled from running his fingers through it during the match.
You had been watching him from the doorway for a few minutes, heat pooling low in your belly at the sight of his relaxed posture and the way the fabric of his sweats outlined his thighs. Without warning, you crossed the room, climbed onto the couch, and straddled his lap. Jay’s eyebrows rose in surprise, a small smirk already forming on his lips.
“Hey, what’s—?” he started, but the words died when your hand slipped inside his waistband, pulling his cock free. He was already half hard from the way you’d been looking at him earlier. You stroked him firmly a few times until he was fully erect thick, veined, and heavy in your grip then positioned yourself and sank down in one smooth, deliberate motion.
Jay’s cock stretched you open deliciously, filling every inch until you were seated flush against him, his length buried to the hilt inside your tight, wet cunt. No movement just pure cockwarming.
“Shit—!” Jay’s head slammed back against the couch cushions, a sharp groan tearing from his throat. His hands shot to your waist instantly, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. His eyes flew open wide, dark and blown with lust as he stared at you in shock and raw hunger. “Y/N… fuck, you just— you took me all the way in like that?”
His voice was rough, that slight American accent thickening with arousal. For several long seconds, he didn’t move, simply breathing through the overwhelming sensation of your walls enveloping him completely—hot, slick, and pulsing around his cock. You could feel him twitch and swell even thicker inside you, the head pressing firmly against your deepest point.
Jay let out a shaky, impressed laugh, his chest rising and falling rapidly under you. “Bold as hell initiating cockwarming right in the middle of my game? You’re something else, princess.” His hands slid down to grip your ass possessively, squeezing the soft flesh as he adjusted his posture slightly, spreading his thighs wider so you sank even deeper. The new angle made both of you moan softly.
He looked down between your joined bodies where you were connected, then slowly dragged his gaze back up to your face. “You’re so fucking wet already. I can feel it dripping down my balls.” Jay’s voice dropped lower, husky and teasing. One hand slipped under the hem of the oversized shirt you wore his shirt again and traced up your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “No warning just sliding that pretty pussy down on my cock and staying there. You missed me that much huh ?”
You stayed perfectly still, savoring the intimate fullness. Jay’s cock throbbed steadily inside you, matching his quickened heartbeat. He pulled you closer until your chests pressed together, his lips finding yours in a slow, deep kiss that quickly turned filthy. His tongue explored your mouth with the same controlled intensity he brought to everything precise, overwhelming, leaving you breathless.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “We’re doing this properly then,” he murmured, voice vibrating against your skin. “Stay right there don’t move.” His restraint was impressive he didn’t thrust up into you despite the obvious need. Instead, he focused on the connection, rolling his hips in tiny, lazy circles that created the barest friction enough to make your walls flutter around him without breaking the cockwarming stillness.
“God, you feel incredible,” Jay whispered, lips brushing your ear. “So warm and tight… like you were made to warm my cock like this.” His hands roamed everywhere cupping your breasts through the shirt, thumbs circling your hardening nipples until you whimpered. He pinched lightly, drawing a gasp from you that made his cock jump inside your heat. “That’s it squeeze me just like that I want to feel every little pulse.”
The minutes stretched deliciously. Jay was vocal, whispering a constant stream of praise and filth in that low, accented tone that always melted you. “You’re getting wetter every second. Soaking my sweats already.” He reached between you, fingers grazing where you were stretched around him, collecting your slick before bringing it to your lips. “Taste how much you want this.” His eyes darkened as you sucked his fingers clean.
He kissed along your jaw, down your neck, sucking marks into your skin while staying buried deep. Every tiny shift of your body earned a quiet curse from him. “Fuck, princess you’re clenching so hard. Trying to pull me even deeper?” Jay’s self-control was fraying at the edges you could feel the tension in his thighs, the way his abs flexed under you but he held you firmly in place, one arm wrapped around your waist like a steel band.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he confessed between kisses, voice rough. “Practice was long, but coming home to this? You sinking down on me and keeping me warm best surprise ever.” He flexed deliberately, making his cock nudge against that sensitive spot inside you. The sensation drew a broken moan from your throat. Jay smirked against your neck. “Sensitive there, huh? Good. I want you aching for me while we stay like this.”
Fifteen minutes passed twenty. Jay kept the slow burn going, alternating between deep kisses and soft, affectionate ones. His hands never stopped moving—stroking your back, squeezing your thighs, occasionally tilting your hips just enough to grind subtly. Sweat started to bead on his forehead, his white tee clinging slightly to his chest. The room felt hotter, thicker with tension.
“You’re trembling,” he observed, pulling back to look at you with those intense eyes. A cocky, affectionate smile tugged at his lips. “Am I too big like this? Stretching you so full you can’t think straight?” He rolled his hips again in that maddeningly small motion. “I could stay buried in you for hours. Just feeling how perfect you are around me.”
Your clit throbbed against his pelvis, desperate for more friction, but Jay kept you pinned, drawing out the anticipation. His breathing grew ragged, control slipping. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold back,” he admitted, voice strained. “You feel too fucking good. Hot, wet, squeezing my cock like you never want me to leave.”
He kissed you harder then, more desperate, tongue sliding against yours as his hips gave a small involuntary thrust. The movement pushed him impossibly deeper, making you both groan loudly. Jay’s hands gripped your ass tighter. “Fuck it,” he growled softly.
In one fluid motion, he flipped you onto your back on the couch without pulling out, his body covering yours. The new position let him press even deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix. Jay braced himself on his elbows, staring down at you with dark, hungry eyes.
“Look at me,” he commanded, voice low and authoritative. His damp hair fell forward as he started moving—slow, deep thrusts at first, pulling out just enough to feel your walls drag along every inch before sliding back home. The wet, obscene sounds of your bodies meeting filled the living room.
“You started this,” Jay panted, snapping his hips harder. “Taking my cock the second you wanted it such a greedy princess.” One hand slipped between you, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight, perfect circles. “Come on my cock. Want to feel you fall apart while I’m still so deep inside you.”
The pleasure built fast and intense. Your orgasm crashed over you, walls spasming violently around his thick length. Jay cursed loudly, fucking you through it with powerful, controlled strokes. “That’s it—fuck, just like that. So good for me.”
His own release followed soon after. Jay buried himself to the hilt, hips stuttering as he came deep inside you with a low, guttural groan of your name. You felt every pulse, every spurt of warmth filling you.
Afterwards, Jay didn’t pull out right away. He collapsed half on top of you, careful not to crush you, and pressed soft, lazy kisses to your lips, your cheeks, your forehead. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, voice hoarse and satisfied. “Love when you take what you want like that.”
He stayed nestled inside you as he shifted you both to a more comfortable position on the couch, spooning you against his chest. His arms wrapped around you protectively, one hand gently stroking your thigh. “We’re staying like this for a while longer,” he decided with a lazy, content smile. “Don’t want to lose this feeling yet.”
The TV remained paused and forgotten. Jay nuzzled into your neck, whispering sweet nothings mixed with more praise as the afterglow settled over both of you—warm, intimate, and full of quiet affection. His cock softened slowly inside you, but he made no move to separate, content to keep you connected as long as possible.
◟✿ jake ˒ The bedroom was softly lit by a single bedside lamp, casting a warm golden glow over the rumpled sheets. Jake had just returned from a late dance practice, his body tired but still buzzing with leftover energy. He was lying on his back in bed, shirtless in just a pair of gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips, one arm slung over his eyes as he tried to unwind. His messy brown hair was damp with sweat, and his toned abs rose and fell with steady breaths. The faint scent of his body wash—clean and slightly citrusy lingered in the air.
You had been waiting for him, heart racing with anticipation. The moment he settled in, you moved quietly, climbing onto the bed and straddling his lap without a word. Jake stirred, lifting his arm with a sleepy, affectionate smile. “Hey, baby missed y—”
The words cut off in a sharp inhale as your hand slipped into his sweatpants, freeing his cock. He was already semi hard from the casual closeness, and a few strokes had him fully erect thick, long, and flushed. You positioned yourself over him and sank down slowly but deliberately, taking every inch until your hips met his and his cock was buried completely inside your tight, welcoming cunt.
Jake’s eyes flew open wide, a mix of shock and instant pleasure flashing across his handsome face. “Oh my god—babe!” His voice cracked beautifully, that bright Australian accent thickening with arousal. His hands shot to your thighs instantly, fingers gripping the soft flesh as his back arched slightly off the bed. “Fuck… you’re so warm so fucking warm and tight around me right now.”
For a long moment, he just stared up at you, lips parted, chest heaving. A bright blush crept up his neck and across his cheeks, but his eyes sparkled with pure lust and adoration. His cock twitched hard inside you, swelling even thicker as your walls fluttered and adjusted to his size. You could feel every ridge, every vein pulsing against your inner walls, the head pressed deep.
Jake let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, the sound warm and husky. “You just… slid down on me like that? No warning, nothing?” He bit his lip, eyes darkening as he looked down to where your bodies were joined. “Jesus, princess…you feel incredible like heaven. I love when you surprise me like this.”
His hands slid up your thighs to your waist, pulling you down flush against him so your chests pressed together. The oversized shirt you wore his, of course rode up, and he slipped his hands underneath, palms warm and slightly calloused from practice as they roamed your bare skin. “Stay like this,” he whispered, voice already rough. “Don’t move yet. I want to feel all of you every little squeeze.”
Jake was affectionate even in the filthiest moments. He pulled you into a deep kiss slow and sweet at first, full of that warmth, then growing more heated as his tongue tangled with yours. His hips gave one tiny, involuntary roll, nudging deeper without breaking the stillness. The sensation drew matching gasps from both of you.
“You’re already so wet,” he murmured against your lips, forehead resting against yours. “I can feel it. You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you? My sweet girl initiating cockwarming the second I get home.” His smile was bright and playful, but his voice carried that low, needy edge. One hand cupped the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair while the other squeezed your ass possessively, holding you in place.
He stayed perfectly still for long minutes, savoring the intimate connection. His cock throbbed steadily inside your heat, and every time your walls clenched around him whether from pleasure or on purpose he let out a soft, wrecked groan. “That’s it… just like that keep pulsing around me. Feels so good, baby.”
Jake’s hands never stopped moving gentle but exploratory. He traced your spine under the shirt, cupped your breasts and rolled your nipples between his fingers until they pebbled. He kissed everywhere he could reach your lips, your jaw, the sensitive spot beneath your ear, your collarbone. Between kisses, he whispered constant praise in that addictive accent.
“You’re so perfect for me. So tight and hot like you were made to warm my cock.” He flexed deliberately inside you, making his length jump and nudge that sweet spot. The tiny movement sent sparks through both of you. “Mmm, hear that little whimper? I love it love how full you feel with me inside.”
The cockwarming stretched on Jake’s usual playful energy mixed with deepening desire. Sweat began to glisten on his chest where your bodies were pressed together. His breathing grew heavier, but he held you firmly, refusing to let you ride him yet. “Not yet,” he’d murmur with a teasing grin whenever you shifted. “I want to enjoy this a little longer. Just feeling you around me… so wet and snug.”
He reached between your bodies once, fingers grazing your stretched folds where you took him so deeply. Collecting some of your slick, he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean, eyes locked on yours the entire time. “Tastes so sweet all this because my cock is buried in you? God, I’m lucky.”
Your clit throbbed against his pelvis, aching for friction, but Jake kept the slow burn alive. He rolled his hips in maddeningly small circles barely any movement, but enough to grind subtly and keep the pleasure building. “You’re shaking already,” he observed softly, affection clear in his voice. “Am I that deep, baby? Stretching you so good you’re trembling on top of me?”
The tension coiled tighter. Jake’s control was fraying despite his sweet demeanor. His thighs tensed beneath you, abs flexing as he fought the urge to thrust. “I don’t think I can stay still much longer,” he admitted, voice strained and husky. “You feel too fucking amazing. Hot, wet, squeezing me like you never want me to pull out.”
He kissed you desperately then, tongue sliding deep as his hips gave a small involuntary buck. The movement pushed him impossibly deeper, drawing loud moans from both of you. Jake’s hands gripped your hips tighter. “Fuck… okay, I need you.”
In one smooth motion, he rolled you both over without pulling out, settling on top while staying fully sheathed. The new position let gravity press him even deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix. Jake braced himself on his elbows, messy hair falling forward as he looked down at you with bright, lust-filled eyes and that heart-melting smile.
“Eyes on me, beautiful,” he whispered, starting to move slow, deep thrusts at first. He pulled back just enough for your walls to drag along his length before sliding home again, the wet sounds of your connection filling the quiet room. His pace was enthusiastic and passionate, exactly like Jake—full of energy and focus on your pleasure.
“You started this,” he panted, lips brushing yours between thrusts. “Climbing on me and taking my cock so perfectly such a good girl.” One hand slipped between you, thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing perfect, tight circles in time with his strokes. “Come for me while I’m this deep. Want to feel you milking my cock.”
The orgasm hit you hard and fast, walls spasming violently around his thick cock. Jake groaned loudly, the sound raw and beautiful as he fucked you through it, hips snapping with controlled power. “Yes—fuck, just like that. So tight, baby so perfect.”
His own climax followed soon after. Jake buried himself to the hilt, hips stuttering as he came deep inside you with a long, throaty moan of your name. You felt every pulse, every warm spurt filling you as he trembled above you.
Afterwards, Jake didn’t pull out. He collapsed gently on top of you, careful with his weight, and buried his face in your neck. Soft, lazy kisses peppered your skin your shoulder, your jaw, your lips. “You’re amazing,” he murmured, voice hoarse and full of affection. “I love when you take initiative like that feeling you warm me… best way to end the night.”
He shifted carefully, pulling you with him so you were spooned against his chest, his cock still nestled softly inside you. His arms wrapped around you securely, one hand gently stroking your thigh and hip. “We’re staying like this,” he decided with a sleepy, satisfied grin, nuzzling into your hair. “Don’t want to lose this closeness yet feels too good to let go”
The room fell into comfortable quiet, filled with your synced breathing and occasional soft whispers. Jake pressed gentle kisses to the back of your neck, murmuring how much he loved you, how perfect you felt, how he could stay connected like this forever. His body heat enveloped you, the afterglow warm and lingering as you both drifted toward sleep intimately joined, content, and utterly satisfied.
◟✿ sunghoon ˒ The dorm’s private gym corner in the basement level was quiet and dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a single overhead LED strip that cast cool, bluish tones across the mirrored walls. Sunghoon had stayed back after the others left, working on his core strength and flexibility routines that kept his figure skating precision sharp even in idol life. Sweat glistened on his skin, his black tank top clinging to his lean, sculpted torso and his loose training shorts riding low on his narrow hips. His dark hair was damp, pushed back from his forehead, and his sharp jaw was set in concentration as he finished a set of planks, breathing controlled and steady.
You had slipped down quietly to find him, drawn by the low sounds of his exertion. The air smelled of clean sweat and the faint citrus of his post workout spray. Without announcing yourself, you waited until he rolled onto his back to stretch his hip flexors, legs bent and slightly apart. That was your moment. You moved swiftly, straddling his waist and tugging his shorts and briefs down just enough to free his cock.
Sunghoon’s eyes snapped open, dark and intense, as your hand stroked him quickly to full hardness long, thick, and curving slightly upward. Before he could form a question, you lined him up and sank down in one fluid, deliberate glide, enveloping every inch until you were fully seated, your ass flush against his pelvis. His cock was buried to the hilt inside your slick heat.
A sharp hiss escaped Sunghoon’s lips, his hands instinctively flying to your hips, fingers pressing hard into your skin. His usual cool, princely composure shattered in an instant. “Y/N—” His voice came out strained, lower than usual, almost a growl. His eyes widened, pupils dilating rapidly as the overwhelming sensation hit him your walls hugging him so tightly, so warmly, pulsing around his length without any movement.
He stayed frozen beneath you for several heartbeats, chest heaving, abs contracting visibly under the tank top. The position him on his back on the cool gym mat, you perched perfectly on his cock made everything feel impossibly deep. “You… you really just took me like that? Right here?” Surprise laced his tone, but it quickly melted into dark arousal. A faint blush colored his sharp cheekbones, contrasting his typically icy visuals.
Sunghoon’s hands trembled slightly as they gripped you, holding you down so neither of you could shift. His cock throbbed powerfully inside your pussy, swelling thicker at the sudden intimate embrace. You could feel every ridge, the subtle curve pressing against your front wall, his heartbeat pulsing through the vein along his shaft. The mirrored walls around you reflected the scene back endlessly your bodies joined, his long legs stretched out beneath you.
“Fuck… you’re burning hot around me,” he whispered, voice husky and amazed. He licked his lips, gaze dropping to where you were stretched so obscenely around him. One hand slid up your thigh, pushing the hem of your thin dress higher, exposing more skin. “No prep, no talking… just sinking onto my cock after my workout so fucking bold tonight.”
Sunghoon didn’t immediately pull you down for kisses. He was more visual, more sensory. He kept you upright on him, eyes roaming your body as he adjusted his breathing. His fingers traced slow patterns on your thighs, then higher, thumbs brushing dangerously close to your clit without touching. The stillness amplified everything the faint twitch of his cock, the way your walls fluttered in response, the shared heat building between your connected bodies.
“Stay exactly like this,” he commanded softly, that deep, velvety tone sending shivers through you. He flexed his hips in the tiniest upward tilt, barely noticeable but enough to nudge deeper, drawing a gasp from both of you. “I want to feel how wet you get just from holding me inside. Look at the mirror.” He nodded toward the wall. “Watch how perfectly you take me.”
You both turned your heads. The reflection was erotic Sunghoon’s lean, powerful body beneath you, sweat making his skin glow, his cock disappearing into your body. He groaned low at the sight, his free hand reaching to squeeze your ass, spreading you slightly for a better view. “So tight gripping me like you’re afraid I’ll disappear. But I’m not going anywhere.”
Minutes passed in charged silence broken only by soft breaths. Sunghoon was masterful at restraint years of skating discipline showing in how he held perfectly still while his body screamed for friction. But he wasn’t silent. He murmured observations in that precise, low voice, each word dripping with lust.
“Your pussy is dripping down my shaft already. I can feel it coating my balls.” He shifted one leg slightly, bending his knee to change the angle just enough to press against a new spot inside you. The subtle movement made you clench hard. Sunghoon’s head tipped back, exposing the elegant line of his neck as he swallowed thickly. “Again do that again.”
You obeyed, and he rewarded you with a rare, devastating smile half smirk, half genuine pleasure. His hands moved with purpose now one staying on your hip to anchor you, the other slipping under your dress to cup your breast, rolling the nipple between cool fingers. “Sensitive tonight. Everything feels heightened because we’re not moving, doesn’t it?” He pinched lightly, eyes locked on your face, drinking in every reaction.
The cockwarming dragged on deliciously. Sweat from his workout mixed with new beads of arousal on his skin. The gym mat stuck slightly to his back, but he didn’t care. Sunghoon’s usual aloofness cracked further with every passing second his breathing grew ragged, and his thighs tensed beneath you like coiled springs.
“You’re so warm and slick it’s driving me insane,” he confessed, voice breaking into a whisper. He reached up, pulling you down until your chests met, but still no real thrusting. Instead, he wrapped both arms around your waist, holding you impossibly close. His lips finally found your neck—not soft kisses, but deliberate, sucking bites that would leave faint marks. “I train for hours to stay controlled, but you come in here and undo all of it in seconds.”
He guided your head to his shoulder, letting you feel his rapid heartbeat against your cheek while his cock continued its constant, throbbing presence inside you. Every tiny involuntary clench from you earned a quiet curse or a sharp inhale. Sunghoon’s hand trailed down your back, fingers dancing along your spine before gripping your ass again, spreading you wider in the reflection.
“Look how deep I am,” he murmured, voice dark. “You’re taking all of me so well my perfect girl.” The praise was sparse but potent, delivered in that intensity. He flexed again, this time holding the tension longer, letting his curved tip grind subtly against your g-spot without pulling out. The pressure built unbearably, your clit aching where it pressed against his pelvis.
Your whimpers grew louder. Sunghoon’s control finally frayed. “I can’t… I need to feel more.” In a swift, powerful move, he rolled you both sideways on the mat, keeping his cock fully sheathed. Now on your sides facing each other, legs tangled, he hooked one of your thighs over his hip. The new angle allowed even deeper penetration, his body curving into yours.
Sunghoon stared into your eyes, foreheads nearly touching. “You initiated this. Now take what comes next.” He began moving—slow, rolling thrusts that never fully withdrew, keeping the connection intimate and constant. Each stroke was precise, controlled, hitting every sensitive spot with skater-like grace and power. The wet, slick sounds echoed softly in the empty gym space.
His hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight, expert circles. “Come on my cock,” he demanded quietly, eyes never leaving yours. “I want to feel you squeeze me while I’m this deep.” The intensity built fast his lean muscles flexing, hips snapping with increasing force while still somehow maintaining that connected depth.
Your orgasm crashed over you suddenly, walls convulsing hard around his thick length. Sunghoon groaned, deep and guttural, fucking you through the waves with focused thrusts. “Yes… just like that so good—fuck.” His own release followed moments later. He buried himself as deep as possible, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, warm pulses filling you while he held you tight against him.
Afterwards, Sunghoon stayed inside, not pulling out. He rolled onto his back again, bringing you on top once more, his arms wrapped securely around you. His breathing slowed gradually, fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back. The cool gym air contrasted with your heated bodies.
“That was unexpected,” he said softly, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips. His voice regained some of its usual calm, but affection warmed it. “I like when you catch me off guard. Makes me feel alive.” He pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to your temple, then your lips lingering and tender.
He didn’t move to separate. Instead, he reached for a nearby towel, draping it over your joined lower bodies casually. “We’ll stay like this until I say otherwise. I’m not ready to lose how warm you feel yet.” His hand stroked your hair, the other resting possessively on your ass, keeping you pinned.
The mirrors reflected your entwined forms in the low light. Sunghoon’s usual aura softened into quiet intimacy. He whispered occasional praises how perfect you felt, how he’d think about this during his next practice while his cock softened slowly inside you, still nestled comfortably. The afterglow stretched long, the gym quiet except for your breathing, creating a private world just for the two of you.
Eventually, he helped you up carefully, still connected, and carried you toward the elevator back to the main dorm levels, your legs wrapped around him. “Shower together later?” he suggested with a raised eyebrow, already planning to extend the closeness.
◟✿ sunoo ˒ The soft glow of string lights wrapped around the headboard filled Sunoo’s room with a warm, pinkish hue, creating a cozy, almost dreamy atmosphere. It was well past midnight, and the rest of the dorm had settled into silence after a long day of rehearsals. Sunoo had been unwinding in his favorite way sitting cross legged in the middle of his bed, a fluffy blanket draped over his lap, humming softly to himself while applying a sheet mask to his face. His skin was dewy from the recent cleanse, and he wore a loose white tank top paired with soft black shorts that rode up his thighs. His hair was slightly tousled, falling cutely over his forehead, and his expressive eyes sparkled with that signature Sunoo brightness even as he relaxed.
You entered quietly, drawn by the gentle melody he was humming one of their upcoming tracks. He glanced up with a bright smile, peeling the edge of the mask. “Hey~ You’re still up? Come here, I’ll share the mask—” But you had other plans. You crawled onto the bed, gently pushing his shoulders back until he was propped against the pile of pillows. Before he could react fully, you tugged his shorts down just enough, revealing his smooth, pretty cock. A few teasing strokes had him hardening quickly elegant and sensitive, responding beautifully to your touch.
Sunoo’s eyes widened in surprise, the sheet mask crinkling as his mouth formed a perfect ‘O’. You straddled him smoothly, pulling your own sleep shorts aside, and sank down onto him in one slow, intentional glide. Inch by inch, you took him until he was fully nestled inside your warm, slick walls, your hips flush against his. Pure cockwarming—no immediate movement, just the intimate, throbbing connection.
“Ahh—! Y/N…” Sunoo’s voice came out in a breathy, melodic gasp, higher-pitched than usual with shock and pleasure. His hands flew to your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your top as his whole body tensed beneath you. The sheet mask slipped slightly on his cheek, but he didn’t bother fixing it. His cheeks flushed a deep pink almost instantly, that adorable blush spreading down his neck. “You… you really just sat on me like that? While I’m doing skincare?” A soft, disbelieving giggle escaped him, mixing cuteness with growing arousal.
His cock twitched vividly inside you, thickening and pulsing as your heat enveloped him completely. You could feel every subtle ridge, the way he fit so perfectly, like he was made for this closeness. Sunoo’s breathing quickened, his chest rising and falling under the thin tank top. He stared up at you with those large, expressive doe eyes, a mix of playful shock and deep want shining through.
“Wow… you’re so warm and tight right now,” he whispered, voice turning husky yet still retaining that sweet, bell like quality. He bit his plush lower lip, trying to stay composed, but the way his thighs shifted slightly underneath you betrayed him. Instead of immediately pulling you down for kisses, Sunoo reached up and gently adjusted his sheet mask with one hand, the other staying firmly on your hip to hold you still.
He let out another soft laugh, but it dissolved into a quiet moan as your walls fluttered around him involuntarily. The position him half reclined against pillows, you fully seated in his lap under the pretty string lights felt intimate and almost romantic. Sunoo’s free hand trailed up your side, slipping under your top to caress your bare skin with feather light touches. “Don’t move yet, okay? Let me feel you all of you holding me like this.”
True to his playful nature, Sunoo kept the moment light even as heat built between you. He tilted his head, studying your face with sparkling eyes while staying perfectly still. His cock continued to throb steadily inside your pussy, the sensation amplified by the lack of movement. “It feels like you’re hugging me from the inside,” he murmured sweetly, then giggled again when you clenched on purpose. “That’s cheating but I like it.”
Minutes ticked by in this dreamy haze. Sunoo was vocal and affectionate, filling the quiet room with whispered compliments and little hums. He finally peeled the sheet mask off completely, tossing it aside, revealing his glowing skin. “Look at us,” he said, nodding toward the mirror across the room that reflected your connected forms under the soft lights. “You look so pretty on me like this so full.”
His hands explored gently tracing your curves, cupping your breasts through the fabric, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they peaked. Each touch was tender yet teasing, never rushing. He leaned forward slightly to nuzzle your neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your collarbone while his hips remained motionless. The only “movement” came from subtle flexes—him deliberately pulsing his cock inside you, making you both gasp.
“You’re getting wetter I can feel it trickling down,” Sunoo observed in a hushed, almost reverent tone, his voice like velvet. “All because my cock is just sitting warm inside you? that’s so hot.” He sucked a small mark just below your ear, then pulled back to watch your reactions, his own face flushed and eyes half lidded with pleasure. The skincare scent mixed with the growing musk of arousal, creating an oddly intimate atmosphere unique to him.
Sunoo’s usual bright energy simmered into something deeper and needier. He started humming again softly a gentle melody that vibrated through his chest into yours while one hand slipped between your bodies without breaking the seal. His fingers hovered near your clit, teasing circles in the air just close enough to make you ache, but he didn’t touch fully yet. “Patience,” he teased with a cute pout, even as sweat beaded on his forehead. “I want to remember every second of you warming me so nicely.”
Your whimpers made his resolve waver. Sunoo’s breathing grew uneven, his plush lips parting as he fought the urge to thrust. “You feel too good so silky and hot. I could stay like this forever, just talking and feeling you squeeze me.” He finally cupped your face with both hands, pulling you into a slow, deep kiss. It was sweet at first then turned passionate, tongues gliding lazily in time with the subtle throbbing between your legs.
The tension coiled tighter. Sunoo’s thighs trembled beneath you, his lean body taut with restraint. “I’m trying so hard to be good,” he confessed against your mouth, voice breaking into a whine. “But you’re clenching so much it’s making me throb.” He rolled his hips in the smallest possible circle, grinding subtly against your front wall without pulling out. The motion drew a shared moan, the string lights casting shifting shadows across your skin.
Your clit pressed insistently against his pelvis, begging for friction. Sunoo noticed, his eyes darkening with desire while retaining that playful sparkle. “My baby needs more?” He finally let his fingers find your clit, rubbing slow, precise circles that matched the melody still humming in his throat. The dual sensation his cock buried deep and unmoving, plus the targeted touch pushed you closer to the edge.
Sunoo’s control snapped elegantly. “Okay I can’t hold back anymore.” With surprising strength, he shifted you both while staying fully sheathed, turning so you were on your back with him hovering above, still connected. The new angle let him press even deeper, his pretty face flushed and hovering close to yours. The blanket tangled around your legs, adding to the cozy mess.
He started moving slow, rolling thrusts that kept the intimacy intact, never fully withdrawing. Each stroke was graceful and rhythmic, like his dance moves translated into pleasure. “You started this surprise,” Sunoo panted softly, his voice melodic even now, “sinking onto me while I was masked up so naughty and cute.” His hips snapped a little sharper, hitting that perfect spot consistently.
One hand braced beside your head while the other continued teasing your clit. “Come for me like this,” he encouraged, eyes locked on yours with that intense yet loving gaze only. “I want to feel you pulse around my cock while it’s so deep.”
The orgasm washed over you in warm waves, your walls clamping down hard on his length. Sunoo moaned beautifully high and sweet fucking you through it with precise, passionate strokes. “Yes… ahh, just like that. You’re squeezing me so perfectly.” His own climax followed quickly, hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you with a long, breathy whimper of your name, filling you with warmth.
Afterwards, Sunoo stayed buried inside, collapsing gently onto you with his face tucked into your neck. He pressed dozens of tiny, affectionate kisses across your skin, giggling breathlessly. “That was amazing I didn’t expect my night to end like this, but I’m so happy.” His voice was soft and satisfied, full of that signature sunshine even post-orgasm.
He rolled carefully to the side, pulling you with him so you remained spooned together, his softening cock still nestled comfortably inside your heat. The string lights twinkled above as he wrapped both arms around you, one leg hooked over yours to keep you close. “We’re sleeping just like this,” he declared cutely, nuzzling your hair. “I don’t want to pull out yet. You feel too warm and nice like my personal heater.”
Sunoo continued humming softly, his fingers drawing hearts on your arm as the afterglow wrapped around you both. He whispered sweet praises how much he loved your boldness, how perfect the connection felt, how he’d smile thinking about this during tomorrow’s schedule. The room filled with quiet contentment, his bright personality making the filthy act feel loving and special. No rush to separate, just prolonged closeness under the pretty lights, bodies joined and hearts synced.
◟✿ jungwon ˒ The dorm’s small home office nook off the main living area was quiet under the soft glow of a desk lamp. It was deep into the night, long after the other members had retreated to their rooms. Jungwon, ever the responsible leader, sat at the wooden table with his laptop open, reviewing tomorrow’s schedule and scribbling notes on a notepad. He wore a simple black hoodie and gray sweat shorts, his dark hair slightly messy from running his fingers through it in concentration. His sharp, cat like eyes scanned the screen with focused intensity, but his shoulders carried that subtle tiredness only you could notice. A half empty mug of herbal tea sat beside him, steam long gone.
You had been watching him from the doorway, admiring the way he carried the weight of the group with such quiet grace. Without speaking, you approached from behind, sliding your arms around his shoulders first. Jungwon turned his head with a soft smile, about to greet you, but you moved faster. You slipped onto his lap facing him, straddling his thighs right there at the table. Before he could set his pen down, your hand dipped into his shorts, stroking his cock from soft to fully hard in quick, practiced motions thick, veined, and curving just right.
Jungwon’s breath hitched sharply. “Y/N, what are you—” The words dissolved into a low, surprised groan as you pushed his shorts aside and sank down onto him in one steady, deliberate motion. You took him all the way in, your slick walls enveloping every inch until you were fully seated in his lap, his cock buried to the hilt inside your warm heat. No movement. Just cockwarming, right there at the desk with his laptop still glowing behind you.
His eyes widened, pupils blowing wide in the dim light. “Oh wow,” Jungwon breathed, his voice that perfect mix of youthful and commanding. His hands instinctively gripped your hips, fingers pressing into your skin through the thin fabric of your oversized tee. He sat perfectly still, processing the sudden velvet grip surrounding him. His cock twitched powerfully inside you, swelling thicker as your pussy fluttered and adjusted around his length. You could feel the subtle curve pressing firmly against your front wall, his pulse beating steadily deep within.
For a long moment, Jungwon just stared at you, cheeks flushing a soft pink that contrasted his leader aura. A small, breathless chuckle escaped him, low and slightly disbelieving. “Right here? While I’m working on schedules?” His tone held fond exasperation, but his dark eyes gleamed with instant heat. “You really chose now to warm me like this so sudden and bold.”
He leaned back slightly in the chair, careful not to dislodge you, the wooden seat creaking softly under your combined weight. The new position him seated at the table, you fully impaled on his cock with your legs wrapped around his waist made everything feel incredibly intimate and risky, the open nook adding a thrill of possible discovery. Jungwon’s hands slid under your shirt, palms warm against your bare back as he pulled you closer until your chests touched. “You’re so wet already,” he murmured, voice dropping into a husky whisper. “Sliding down on me without any warning my sneaky kitten.”
Jungwon’s response was measured yet intensely focused. He didn’t thrust or grind immediately. Instead, he held you there, savoring the deep connection while his laptop screen dimmed behind you. His fingers traced slow, soothing circles on your lower back, then lower to cup your ass, holding you flush so not even a centimeter of his cock escaped your heat. “Stay still for me,” he said softly, almost like a gentle order. “I want to feel every pulse. How you’re squeezing me so perfectly right now.”
The cockwarming stretched in charged silence. Jungwon’s discipline as leader showed in his restraint he remained almost motionless, only allowing tiny, controlled flexes of his cock inside you. Each deliberate throb made you both inhale sharply. “Feel that?” he whispered against your ear, lips brushing the shell. “That’s what you do to me. Just sitting here, warm and tight around my cock it’s driving me crazy in the best way.”
He turned his head to nuzzle your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your throat while one hand slipped between your bodies to rest just above where you were joined, feeling the heat radiating there. No direct touching yet, just heightening awareness. “You’re dripping onto my shorts,” he observed quietly, a hint of teasing amusement in his voice. “All this slick just from warming me at the table?”
The desk lamp cast soft shadows across his sharp features as he continued light conversation mixed with filth, his tone calm yet increasingly strained. He occasionally glanced at the laptop screen, pretending to check a note, but his attention was entirely on the way your walls hugged him. “This schedule can wait,” he decided, closing the lid with one hand without shifting you. “You’re more important right now.”
Jungwon’s hands roamed with purpose cupping your breasts under the shirt, thumbs circling your nipples until they hardened. He rolled them gently, then a little firmer, drawing soft whimpers from you. “So responsive,” he praised, voice low and velvety. “Every time you clench, I feel it all the way up my spine. You’re going to make me lose focus completely.” Sweat began to form on his brow, his hoodie suddenly feeling too warm. He tugged it off one-handed, revealing his toned torso, then pulled you tighter against his bare chest.
The position allowed for subtle shifts. Jungwon tilted his hips minimally in the chair, changing the angle just enough to nudge a new sensitive spot inside you without breaking the cockwarming stillness. The motion made your clit grind lightly against his pelvis, sending sparks through both of you. “There,” he murmured with a small, satisfied smile. “Feel how deep I am? Filling you up so well while we sit here like nothing’s happening.”
Your breathing grew heavier, matching his. Jungwon’s cat-like eyes darkened, restraint fraying at the edges despite his composed exterior. His thighs tensed beneath you, muscles flexing as he fought the urge to move. “You’re trembling on me,” he noted, one hand stroking your thigh soothingly while the other gripped your waist. “So needy already. My strong, independent baby initiating this…it’s adorable and so hot.”
The tension built unbearably. Jungwon’s cock throbbed constantly now, leaking inside you. He captured your lips in a deep kiss, then turning hungry, tongue sliding against yours with growing desperation. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “I can’t stay still much longer,” he confessed, voice rougher. “You feel too incredible. Hot, wet, wrapped around every inch of me.”
With a quiet groan, Jungwon pushed the chair back from the table. Still fully connected, he stood carefully, lifting you with surprising strength. Your legs tightened around his waist as he carried you the few steps to the nearby couch in the nook, lowering you onto it on your back without ever pulling out. The new position him hovering above you, cock buried deep allowed better leverage.
“Eyes on me,” Jungwon commanded softly, that natural leader tone sending a thrill through you. He began to move slow, deep rolls of his hips that kept him mostly sheathed, grinding rather than pounding at first. Each thrust was precise, hitting that perfect curve against your walls. The wet sounds of your connection filled the quiet space, obscene against the earlier silence of schedules.
“You surprised me tonight,” he panted, hips snapping a little harder. “Taking what you want while I was trying to be responsible such a bratty leader’s girl.” One hand braced beside your head while the other slipped between you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing firm, expert circles. His pace built steadily, powerful yet controlled, exactly like Jungwon focused entirely on your pleasure.
The orgasm hit you intensely, walls convulsing hard around his thick cock. Jungwon moaned low, burying his face in your neck as he fucked you through it, thrusts deepening. “That’s it squeeze me just like that so good for me.” His own release followed swiftly. He pushed to the hilt, hips stuttering as he came deep inside you with a quiet, guttural groan of your name, warm pulses filling you completely.
Afterwards, Jungwon stayed buried deep, collapsing carefully over you with his weight comforting. He pressed tender kisses to your face, your lips, your eyelids, his breathing gradually slowing. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, voice hoarse but full of affection. “I love when you pull me away from work like this. reminds me I need balance too.”
◟✿ niki ˒ The dim glow of Niki’s gaming setup illuminated the corner of his room. He was slouched in his ergonomic chair, long legs stretched out under the desk, wearing only black basketball shorts and an oversized hoodie. Headphones sat around his neck as he laughed into the phone call with Jake, who was away visiting family and catching up on random stories. The speaker was on, Jake’s cheerful Aussie voice filling the quiet space while Niki played with a fidget toy in his free hand.
“Yeah, hyung, the new choreography is brutal on the knees. I keep telling the choreographer we need more breaks—” Ni-ki’s words cut off mid sentence as you quietly entered and approached him from the front.
His eyes flicked up, a playful smirk already forming, assuming you were just there to bother him like usual. But you didn’t give him time to react properly. You tugged his shorts down just enough to free his cock, already half hard from the casual laziness of the late hour. A few firm strokes later, he was fully erect long, thick, and flushed. Without breaking eye contact, you straddled his lap, pulled your panties aside, and sank straight down onto him in one smooth, relentless motion.
All of him disappeared inside you in seconds, your walls stretching around his impressive length until you were flush against his pelvis, fully seated on his cock while he was still on the phone.
Niki’s entire body jerked. His free hand shot to your hip, gripping hard, knuckles whitening. A choked sound escaped him before he could stop it. “—uh, yeah, I’m still here, hyung,” he managed, voice suddenly deeper and strained. His sharp eyes locked onto yours with a mix of shock, panic, and burning heat. His cock pulsed wildly inside you, thickening even more at the unexpected, scorching grip of your pussy.
Jake’s voice continued casually on the speaker. “You okay? You sound weird.”
Niki swallowed thickly, biting the inside of his cheek. You stayed perfectly still, impaled on him, the fullness overwhelming in the most delicious way. The risk of the ongoing call made everything sharper. “Just… stubbed my toe on the desk keep going,” he lied, forcing a breathy laugh. His long fingers dug into your thigh under the desk, a silent warning and plea at the same time.
You clenched around him deliberately. Niki’s head tipped back against the chair, eyes fluttering shut for a second as he fought to stay composed. The new position him seated upright in the gaming chair, you in his lap facing him, bodies joined while Jake chatted away felt dangerously intimate. His cock throbbed rhythmically against your walls, the subtle curve pressing right into a sensitive spot that made your breath hitch quietly.
“Shit you’re evil,” he mouthed silently at you, not daring to speak it aloud. Sweat already beaded on his forehead. He tried to focus on the call, nodding along to whatever Jake was saying about food recommendations, but his free hand roamed your body under your shirt instead. Long fingers traced your ribs, then cupped your breast, thumb brushing your nipple in slow, teasing circles that matched none of the calm tone he forced into his voice.
Every tiny shift of your hips even the involuntary clenches made his jaw clench. “Yeah, that place sounds good, hyung. We should go when you’re back,” Niki replied, but his voice had dropped an octave, husky and rough around the edges. You could feel him leaking inside you, the warmth spreading as your arousal coated his length and dripped down onto his shorts.
The call dragged on. Jake kept talking, completely oblivious. Niki’s usual boundless energy was now channeled into pure restraint. He mouthed filthy things at you between responses “So fucking wet,” “You’re gonna pay for this,” and “Don’t you dare move yet.” His long legs trembled slightly under you, muscles taut from holding still. The chair creaked faintly whenever he involuntarily flexed his cock deep inside your heat.
You leaned forward, resting your head against his shoulder, lips brushing his neck. Niki’s breath stuttered audibly. “Sorry dropped something,” he quickly told Jake, covering for the noise. One of his hands slipped between your bodies, not to touch your clit, but to press lightly just above where you were stretched around him, feeling the obscene bulge of his cock inside you. The pressure made you both shudder.
Minutes felt like hours. The cockwarming was torturous in the best way no big movements, just the constant, throbbing fullness while Niki multitasked on the call. His hoodie suddenly felt too hot he tugged at the collar with his teeth, eyes half lidded and dark as he stared at you. The fairy lights you’d helped him string earlier twinkled softly, casting shifting colors across his flushed face and sharp jawline.
Finally, Jake said something about calling it a night. “Alright dude don’t stay up too late gaming.”
“Yeah… yeah, I won’t,” Niki rasped. The second the call ended, he ripped the headphones off and tossed the phone onto the desk with a clatter. Both hands gripped your ass immediately, squeezing hard.
“You absolute menace,” he growled, voice raw and no longer restrained. A wicked, breathless grin broke across his face. “Sitting on my cock the entire time I was talking to Jake? I almost moaned your name, you know that?” He rolled his hips upward in one sharp, controlled thrust, driving himself impossibly deeper. The sudden friction after so much stillness ripped a moan from both of you.
Niki didn’t flip you or move to the bed. Instead, he stayed right there in the chair, using his long legs and strong core for leverage. He guided you into a slow, grinding rhythm deep, circular rolls that kept him buried almost completely while hitting every sensitive angle. His height advantage let him lean in and bite at your collarbone, sucking marks that would be hidden by clothes tomorrow.
“Feel how deep I am?” he panted against your skin, voice playful yet wrecked. “You took all of me while I was trying to sound normal. So fucking tight and sloppy now.” One hand finally moved to your clit, rubbing fast, messy circles with those long fingers. The wet sounds of your connection were loud in the now silent room obscene and slick.
He kept the pace torturously controlled at first, savoring the way you fluttered and clenched after the long wait. “You’re shaking already,” he teased, nipping your earlobe. “Was it the risk? Knowing Jake hyung could’ve heard me lose it?” His thrusts grew sharper, more energetic, hips snapping up to meet you each time you sank down. The chair rolled slightly on the floor from the force.
The buildup was intense and different no soft kisses or long praise sessions like the others. Just raw, teasing energy mixed with pure need. Niki’s stamina showed as he fucked up into you relentlessly while keeping you anchored in his lap.
“Come on,” he urged, voice dropping into that deep timbre. “Let me feel you come while I’m still so full inside you. Right here where I was talking to hyung five minutes ago.”
Your orgasm crashed hard, walls spasming violently around his thick length. Niki cursed loudly thrusting through it with powerful strokes, drawing out every wave. His own release hit seconds later he buried himself to the hilt, long body shuddering as he came deep inside you, hot pulses filling you while he groaned your name against your neck.
Afterwards, Niki didn’t pull out. He slumped back in the chair, arms wrapped loosely around you, still buried deep. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, a lazy, satisfied smirk on his lips. “That was insane best worst idea ever.” He pressed a surprisingly soft kiss to your temple, then another to your lips lingering and warm.
𝓦𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐍⠀ ✶ ⠀ sim jaeyun is the kind of person who loves sweet, soft moments. but on this particular night, he’s more than happy to hand over the reins.
𝔀𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : explicit sexual content ⋮ 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗺𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝘂𝗱𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀, 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁 ✿ bondage ˒ unprotected p in v ˒ rough sex ˒ riding ˒ jake has a mommy kink ˒ breeding kink ˒ dirty talk ˒ praise kink ˒ size kink ˒ creampie ˒
𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ꉂ (˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵)
🪷 。 𝐞𝐥’𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 thinking of just sticking to drabbles for now because i genuinely have too many tasks on my plate right now eurgh ᴖ̈ will definitely try getting those event requests done asap tho ㅤꨄ︎
Ever since you and Jake had begun dating, it didn't really take long for you to figure out that Jake's the kind of person who wanted you to feel the love in every moment.
Slow mornings where Jake would surprise you with breakfast in bed; eggs, bacon, sausages, and pineapple juice, your absolute favorite. When you'd come home from work feeling exhausted, he'd wipe off your makeup carefully and do your skincare routine for you. When you were experiencing painful period cramps, he'd be by your side, bringing you tea, heating pads, and doing your share of the chores.
So much so, he was the kind who loved slow and romantic sex.
Tonight was different though.
You'd pinned his wrists above his head before he even realized what was happening, looping the silk tie around the bars of the headboard with a practiced knot. Jake didn't fight it. His lips parted, his chest heaving, and when you sat back on his thighs and admired your work, he swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing. He looked up at you with those wide, desperate brown eyes, pupils blown so dark the iris was nearly gone, and he whispered, "Yes. Please. Whatever you want."
You were wearing nothing but Jake's oversized band t-shirt, the faded cotton hanging off one shoulder, the hem riding up your thighs as you straddled him. You hadn't even taken your panties off yet, just rolled them to the side when you sank down onto him, and the fabric of the shirt brushed against his bare stomach every time you moved forward. His cock was buried to the hilt inside you, thick and impossibly hard, and you could feel every ridge, every vein, every inch of him stretching you open in the most obscene way.
"Mmgh—faster, baby. Ride me until I—ah—forget your name," he moaned out, his eyes rolling back, his cock twitching deep inside you.
You rolled your hips slowly at first, deliberately, dragging your wet heat along his length and feeling him pulse against your walls. The sound was filthy, wet, slick, and unmistakable, your arousal coating him so thoroughly that every movement made a shameless, squelching noise that echoed through the bedroom. His hips jerked up involuntarily, seeking more friction, and you pressed his hips down with one firm hand on his lower stomach.
"Ah-ah. Stay still. I said I'm setting the pace tonight, remember?" you scolded gently, and Jake whimpered, actual tears forming at the corners of his eyes from the effort of holding himself back. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple and soaked into the pillow beneath his head. His bangs were already damp, sticking to his forehead in messy clusters.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll be good, I'll be so good for you," he panted, his fingers flexing uselessly against the silk restraint, not pulling to escape but gripping onto it like a lifeline, anchoring himself because he didn't trust his own body not to buck up into you again.
"God—baby, you feel so warm, so tight—fuck, you're so—ah—hot," he whined out, his voice cracking on the last word.
You rewarded him by picking up the pace, lifting your hips and dropping them back down in a rhythm that made the mattress creak beneath you. The sound of your skin slapping against his grew louder, sharper, punctuating every thrust like a filthy metronome. His thighs flexed beneath you, the muscles in his stomach tensing and releasing every time your body met his, and you could see the glistening sheen of sweat beginning to form across his chest and collarbones.
You leaned down to give him a passionate kiss, moaning into his mouth, swallowing the desperate little sounds he was making. He kissed you back like a drowning man, sloppy and hungry, his tongue sliding against yours with no coordination whatsoever, just pure need. When you pulled away, a string of saliva connected your lips for a brief second before breaking, and Jake chased your mouth, craning his neck up for more.
"Harder, mama, that's it right there. Faster—please," he groaned out, his head falling back into the pillows and his teeth biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to leave an indent. His chest was heaving, ribs visible with every ragged breath, and the sound of your bodies colliding was getting wetter, louder, nastier with every passing second.
"Shh, be a good boy for me and just feel it, okay? You're doing so well, baby," you cooed, bouncing on his cock faster, your hands trailing up the shirt you were wearing so he could see them, fingers walking up your own stomach slowly, pushing the fabric higher, giving him a glimpse of skin beneath.
Jake's eyes locked onto the hem of the shirt like it was the most mesmerizing thing he'd ever seen. He watched the fabric ride up with every bounce, flashing glimpses of your bare stomach, the underside of your breasts, the place where your body swallowed him over and over. His mouth fell open, a broken sound escaping his throat that was somewhere between a moan and a sob.
"Fuck, you're wearing my shirt—mmgh—you're riding me in my fucking shirt," he rasped, his voice wrecked and thin. "You look so—god—you look so filthy wearing my shirt while you fuck me, I can see it riding up every time you—ah—every time you drop down on me, I can see you taking me in, I can—see everything—"
"You like that?" you breathed, rolling your hips in a deep, grinding circle that pressed him against your cervix and made your own vision pixelate for a second. "You like watching me ride your big cock in your shirt, baby? Makes you even harder, doesn't it? I can feel it. I can feel you getting thicker inside me."
"Yes, mama—yes," he cried out, tears now spilling freely down the sides of his face, his hips trembling with the effort of not thrusting up into you. "I love watching you—watching you ride me, watching you fuck me hard. You look so—fucking gorgeous, your body moving like that, my shirt on you—fuck, it—makes me so horny, I'm so horny for you, I can't, I can't—"
"Can't what?" you demanded, breathless now too, because his dick was hitting that spot inside you over and over and your thighs were burning but you didn't dare stop. "Use your words, Jake. Tell me what you need, what you want, anything."
"I need to come—I need to come so bad, please let me come. I'll be so good—fuck—I've been so good, please," he babbled, his wrists pulling at the tie so hard the headboard creaked, not trying to escape, just needing something to hold onto while his entire body vibrated with tension. Sweat was beading at his hairline now, rolling down his jaw, pooling in the hollow of his throat. His abs were clenched so tight they were shaking.
"You wanna come inside me, baby?" you asked, and you watched his face absolutely crumble with want.
"Please, please, please—let me come inside, I wanna fill you up so bad, wanna give you everything, please, mama—fuck—please," he begged, and his voice was so high and thin and desperate that it sent a bolt of heat straight through your core. You clenched around him involuntarily and he sobbed.
"Ah, Jake, you feel so good—so big, you're so deep—mmgh," you managed, your own rhythm faltering for just a second as the pleasure crested. The slapping of skin on skin was relentless now, a wet, obscene percussion that mixed with the creak of the bed frame and Jake's continuous stream of whimpered praise.
"So big for me—stretching me out so good, you're so fucking big—baby—I can barely take it," you gasped, and he shuddered beneath you like the words were physically stroking his cock.
"You take it so well—you take me so well, mama. You were made for me, made for my cock," he whimpered back, because even tied up and desperate and barely coherent, Jake couldn't stop telling you how good you were, how perfect, how everything about you drove him insane.
"I'm gonna come, mama—" His voice pitched up into a register you'd never heard from him before, a reedy, fractured sound.
"That's it, baby, that's it," you said, speeding up your pace, slamming your hips down with a force that made the headboard slam against the wall, the sound of your bodies meeting now sharp and loud and absolutely filthy. "Fuck a baby into me. Come inside me until I'll be able to feel you for days."
Jake let out a sound that was barely human, a wrecked, guttural moan that broke into a whine at the end. "Yes—hell yes—I'll give you a baby, I'll fill you up so deep, you'll be dripping me for days, I'll put a baby in you, I'll, fuck, fuck—"
"Give it to me, give me everything," you commanded, and your own orgasm was right there, coiling tight at the base of your spine, your walls fluttering around him in warning.
"I'm coming, I'm coming, mama, I'm—ah—fuck—" Jake's entire body arched off the bed, his back bowing as he buried himself as deep as he could go, and you felt the first hot pulse of him spilling inside you, thick, copious, endless. He was moaning your name, then just sounds, then nothing but shuddering breaths as his cock kicked and throbbed, pumping rope after rope of cum deep into your pussy. His hips stuttered up into you involuntarily, grinding himself even deeper, and you could feel the warmth of him flooding your insides, so much of it, the excess already beginning to leak out around where you were joined and drip down onto his thighs.
That was what pushed you over. You came with a cry, your walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses, milking him through it, pulling every last drop deeper inside. Your vision went white at the edges, your hands bracing against his chest, and you could feel your own body drawing him in, greedy and needy, making sure none of it would go to waste. The pleasure rolled through you in waves, your thighs trembling on either side of his hips, your breath coming in sharp, staccato gasps.
You both stayed there for a long moment, trembling, catching your breath. Jake's cock was still twitching inside you, oversensitive now, and you could feel the mess he'd made, the obscene squelch of his come shifting inside you every time you so much as breathed. His chest was heaving, his skin flushed from his cheeks down to his nipples, sweat glistening across his whole body, his hair a dark, damp mess against the pillow. His fingers were still wrapped around the silk tie, knuckles white, and when you finally, slowly, leaned forward, he let out a shaky exhale against your lips.
You kissed him. Slow this time, soft, your lips moving gently over his while his cock was still buried inside you, still half-hard, keeping everything exactly where it belonged. He kissed you back with a tenderness that made your chest hurt, his tongue tracing your lower lip, his breath warm and unsteady. You reached up and undid the tie with one hand, freeing his wrists, and his arms immediately wrapped around you, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other pressing flat against the small of your back, holding you against him like he was afraid you'd disappear.
His fingers stroked through your hair. You could feel his heartbeat hammering against your own chest, gradually slowing. The mess between your thighs was warm and sticky and neither of you moved to do anything about it.
Jake broke the kiss first, just enough to speak, his lips still brushing yours. His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, ruined from all the sounds you'd pulled out of him tonight.
"We should do this again more often."
You laughed, breathless, pressing your forehead to his, and you felt him smile against your skin.
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 : @simsimluver @maishee @grdientlips @yejisair777 @kristynaaah @heesroses @vmpiricou @seungiesdoll @malibluess @stwryun @hooniluhv @rikisn @hazeheart12 @exclipszz @melancholatte @bluepains @gojopolo @jasmineeeee1009 @ming1luvr @ni-k1ttie @enzsstuff01 @willothewispbf @emvss @simjaeyunslut @luvlyjaemin @kikizzz0 @ilovhoonie @prettygirlthings-world @jaesim @luv4dani @perristar @bkatarina @fialtorelle @slutforaz @adoreade @la-choiblog | send an ask if you’d like to be added ˙𐃷˙
🎹 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ഒ touch tank by quinnie
✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !
synopsis: lee heeseung has been your self-proclaimed nemesis since you were in grade school. from academic rivalries to petty fights, he is in every way the person you can’t stand the most in this world. but when the boy you’ve been pining after for months pops out with a girlfriend, you’re forced to turn to your nemesis for help. a fake relationship. no real feelings. and if things go well, you’ll have the love of your life and he’ll have a finished portfolio. simple, right? except nothing is ever simple when it comes to lee heeseung.
wc: 20k
warnings: photography student!lee heeseung x fem!reader, fake dating trope, rivals to lovers, he fell first and harder, slow burn (reader takes a second to realize she’s in love with hee, but she gets there), kind of love triangle but not really, sunghoon is in here because who would i be without my heehoon agenda, also ft jake and yunjin and chaewon (le sserafim), fluff, alcohol consumption, college!au, cussing, romcom vibes (obviously. this is me writing this) // smut, p in v, oral f!receiving, fingering, soft sex, praise kink, pet names (baby, princess), body worship (? i think), begging, spitting, multiple orgasms, cream pie, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)
rose thinks… for those who don’t know, fake dating is my absolute all time favorite trope, so of course i had to write it with my favorite guy. i also watched off campus so yk… it’s been a while since i’ve uploaded, so i hope this lives up to any expectations you might have had for it. a special thanks to my lovely @sjynlvr , because you unknowingly gave me the motivation i needed to write this. your kindness in enhablr is felt by this entire community, and it seriously would be so much scarier here without you. as always, reblogs are always appreciated <3
playlist: double take - dhruv // the way i loved you - taylor swift // just a little bit - enhypen // roommates - malcolm todd // boyfriend - ariana grande & social house // pov - ariana grande
You don’t hate Lee Heeseung, mostly because your mom always said that hate was just another word for love (which—absolutely not), but you do find him extremely infuriating.
It’s in the way he’s always just had to be a step ahead of you. Like that time in the fifth grade when your teacher held a mock election for your government lesson, and he’d deliberately ran against you with the sole intention of annoying you. And when he won, he didn’t even do any of the things he’d promised! All he did was pass out whiteboards, and he always made sure to give you the one with the annoying black scribbles on them.
You went through high school like that, with him constantly one upping you in everything you did. He’d even almost beaten you for valedictorian, but you scored two and a half points higher than him on your AP Physics final and the spot was rightfully given to you.
He didn't even seem mad about it, which made the entire thing even more infuriating. He’d spent years trying to prove he was better than you and didn't even flinch when it all amounted to nothing? What a tool.
University was supposed to be an escape. Not just from the mean high school girls and the boring small town you came from, but from him as well. You’d finally be able to breathe without him constantly hovering, you’d finally be able to relax without the constant worry that he was going to do something to ruin it.
So when you walked into your first day of classes at Decalis University, fully expecting to see no one familiar, you can imagine your absolute horror to see him sitting front and center like he owned the place.
He was already making good conversation with your professor, you could tell by how the older man was talking so admittedly with his hands and smiling like he couldn’t get enough of whatever it was Heeseung was talking about.
That’s the thing about Heeseung, everyone around you always seems to think he’s this perfect, charming guy. They don’t see what he really is, not like you do. You seem to be the only person he decides to be his actual evil self with. Why he chose you, you aren’t entirely sure. You don’t think you ever will be.
But that was six months ago, and despite the giant Heeseung shaped stain on your university experience, the entire thing has been significantly better than high school. You don’t see him as much for starters, and when you do he seems too busy to actually try and annoy you. Not for a lack of trying though—those first few months were torture.
You’ve got an eight am class today, which means you have an excuse to make a stop at the coffee shop on campus. It’s right next to your dorm which is insanely convenient and definitely bad for your health, but you're a freshman in college. You don’t think you could name a single person who isn’t surviving off of cheap coffee and gas station noodles.
The line is long, which wouldn’t normally be an issue, but you’re running late and your professors decided he'll dock a letter grade for every tardy. You haven’t had to go through that pain yet, and you really don’t want to change that now.
You rock back and forth on your feet uncomfortably, the line seeming to move slower and slower. You almost consider saying fuck it and just going to class, but then you remember that you’re running off of two hours of sleep and decide you’d rather not fall asleep during your lesson.
It takes another ten minutes before you place your order, and then you’re solemnly waiting off to the side and trying to act like your nerves aren’t tangling up in your stomach.
“Long line, huh?”
You tense. You recognize that voice, and when you look up, the face that accompanies it is enough to ruin your entire morning more than it already has been. So much for not bothering you.
Your eyes narrow, lips curling downwards. At this point, you’re starting to believe your body's natural reaction to Lee Heeseung is immediate disdain. “Why are you talking to me?” You ask bluntly. No point in small talk with him, especially when you know he’s just trying to get under your skin by speaking to you.
He laughs, teeth on display as he does. “Are you this hostile with everyone when you first wake up?”
“Only people who annoy me.”
“I just made an observation, why would that annoy you?”
You shoot him a glare, crossing your arms over your chest. He knows exactly what he’s doing–he always has. His innocent act may work on every other person in this university, but not you. You know Heeseung, you know that getting under people's skin is his favorite pastime. You just wish you understood why he loves to do it to you specifically.
“Can you just…not? You know what you’re doing.”
“I promise I don’t.” The smirk threatening to break onto his lips says otherwise.
You take a deep breath and choose not to play into his game anymore. It’s pretty easy actually, because the barista calls out your name and you practically trip over your feet to grab it. You’ve got ten minutes to make it halfway across campus and into your lecture hall before you’re docked an entire letter grade. You’ve made it there with less.
You don’t bother saying goodbye to Heeseung, but you feel his gaze on you as you leave. Your skin prickles from the weight of it, but you don’t have the mental capacity to dwell on that right now. It’s too early for that.
Tonight’s the last game of the football season, which means practically the entire university showed up to the stadium to show their support, if support meant getting drunk off their asses.
You hadn’t planned to go, mostly because sports had never really been your thing, but Yunjin insists you have to come.
“It’ll be fun!” She pleads, her lower lip jutting out in a pout. She grabs your wrist and pulls on it, but you don’t budge from your spot at your desk. You told her that you had a big test to study for and that’s why you couldn’t go. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but you didn’t really need to study, you already knew the material like the back of your hand.
You sigh and pull your arm from her grip, “I can’t do bad on this test, Yunjin. You know what’ll happen if I do.”
“Yes, yes, the big bad Heeseung will score higher than you and your entire life will be ruined. Believe me, I know.” She clicks her tongue and walks behind you so her hands can rest on your shoulders. “But I think Sunghoon would be so sad to see that you didn’t come to support him for his last game.”
You immediately tense, your face going hot and stomach flipping in ways you didn’t know were possible. Even just the mere mention of Park Sunghoon forces a physical reaction out of you. It’s honestly a little embarrassing.
Sunghoon is the kind of boy you read about in romance novels or watch romcoms about. He’s sweet, smart, and the kind of handsome you weren’t aware a person can actually be. And he does it all effortlessly, like being perfect is something he was just born with. It probably was.
It doesn’t help that he’s always going out of his way to talk to you. Study dates, coffee runs after class, texts about nothing in the middle of the night, all things that feel like a relationship but actually aren’t.
Yunjin keeps insisting that you go for it, and you know that it’s probably not going to be as scary as you’re thinking it will be. After all, all it would do is put a title on whatever song and dance it is that the two of you’ve been putting on for the past couple months.
“I doubt he’d notice if I was there or not.” You shrug, doing your best to seem casual and not like the thought of him has hearts forming in your eyes.
Yunjin squeezes your shoulder and spins your chair around so you’re forced to face her. Her red hair is pulled back into a ponytail, her brows furrowed in determination. She looks a little bit like some kind of strange love coach who takes their job way too seriously. “You’re going to this game.” She says firmly.
“I’m not.”
“That’s what you think.”
The stadium is loud, people talking over each other in the hopes their friends will be able to hear them. They don’t, which means people just talk louder. The lights are bright and overwhelming, and you almost feel claustrophobic with how close the seats are to each other, like whoever designed the place did it without any regard for personal space at all.
Yunjin and Jake are on either side of you, both of them way too invested in the game. You are too, but not for the same reasons as them.
Sunghoon got into Decalis on a football scholarship and is the school's best starting quarterback in fifteen years. Even though he has every right to have a big head about it, he’s so humble you don’t think the thoughts ever even crossed his mind. Someone always approaches him about it when you’re out together on campus, and every time without fail his cheeks go bright pink and he gets this bashful smile on his face. It’s one of the reasons you’ve fallen for him as hard as you have, because unlike most guys you’ve interacted with, he doesn’t seem to have much of an ego at all.
It’s a very welcome contrast to Heeseung.
You can see him on the field too, walking behind the players sitting on the bench and getting candid shots of them. Even though you hate admitting it, he’s always been a gifted photographer. His photos were always hanging up in local art shows or featured in your high school yearbooks. Strangely, it’s the only thing he doesn’t brag about, despite it being the only thing he deserves to.
“Oh, that’s bullshit!” Jake yells, popcorn spilling from his lap as he gestures wildly. “That was our play!”
You give him a side-eye and sink further into your seat. You honestly couldn’t care less about this whole thing; you're just excited to see Sunghoon in his post-game glow as you like to call it. Damp hair, face glowing with a sheen of sweat, his chest still heaving from running up and down the field. The entire thing is admittedly your guilty pleasure.
Yunjin elbows your ribs gently, her chin poking out to the field. You follow her gaze and find Sunghoon with his helmet in hand, drinking out of a green gatorade bottle and laughing at something one of his teammates says. He looks perfect. He is perfect.
And if things go right, he’ll be yours.
By the time the game ends, you’re more than ecstatic to finally get out of your seat and see Sunghoon. Yunjin teases you the entire way down, but you barely notice her. Not when your heart is nearly fluttering out of your chest.
But when you get down there, it’s not Sunghoon you see. No, it’s something much worse.
Heeseung.
He doesn’t notice you at first, and you almost think you’ll be able to sneak around him, but then Jake decides it’s a good idea to open his big mouth and alert the enemy to your presence.
“Heeseung!” He calls, raising his hand in a wave. “What’s good, man?”
Heeseung looks up then, sharp eyes falling onto Jake, and slowly trailing over to you. He grins, all teeth and something akin to mischief, and casually makes his way over to your small group.
“Hey Jake,” he greets, jutting his chin out swiftly. “Yunjin.”
Yunjin returns the greeting politely. “Heeseung.”
She has no reason to be mean to him, but as your closest friend, she understands that she must, by international girl-code law, dislike anyone you dislike, which includes him.
He turns to you then, and you swear you see something flash in his eyes. He keeps the same smile on his face despite the way you glare at him. “Hi, Y/N.”
“Hi.” You respond shortly. You don’t know why he even bothers trying to be nice to you in public, especially when he knows you're not going to return whatever sentiment it is he has.
He smirks like you’ve just said the funniest thing in the world. “Would it hurt you to be nicer?”
“Yes,” you respond easily. “It would, actually.”
He frowns and grabs at his shirt dramatically, right over where his heart is. “Always so mean.”
“You’ll live.”
He chuckles, reaching out and roughing up your hair. You smack his hands away and rush to fix it, palms smoothing down the parts he frizzed up. “Don’t do that!”
He ignores you and turns to talk to Jake about the game, and you can hear them say something about how the referees almost cost the team that last quarter, but you aren’t paying attention to that anymore.
Because behind Heeseung you can see a familiar head of damp black hair, thick eyebrows, and a perfect smile.
“Hey guys,” Sunghoon grins as he approaches. He’s ditched his football uniform and is instead wearing a black long sleeved compression shirt, and you swear your brain short circuits at the sight.
His attention falls to you first, just like it always does, and his smile widens just a fraction. Not enough for it to seem like anything else but a friendly gesture, but it doesn’t stop your heart from fluttering out of control or your cheeks from heating to near impossible levels.
“Hey!” You chirp a bit too loudly, hand shooting up in a wave.
“Nice game tonight, man!” Jake gushes, his hands moving animatedly. “The way you got that goal right at the beginning was insane! I swear, Penn didn't even know what hit them.”
Sunghoon grins and brings a hand up to his neck, the way he always does when somebody praises him, like he still can’t quite process the amount of attention on him. “Thanks, Jake. Seriously.”
“Those refs were awful though,” Yunjin throws in.
The three of them end up in conversation about the game, all of them spewing out football lingo that you couldn’t be bothered to understand. Heeseung's still here too, just…lingering.
He’s friends with Jake and Sunghoon, yes, but he’s always on the sidelines. He’s been like that since high school. He’s friends with everyone, but he never lets them in. Doesn’t make any attempts to know them outside of a surface level friendship.
It’s a little sad, honestly. But you stopped questioning the way his brain worked a long time ago. If he wanted to keep to himself, then that was perfectly fine by you.
You don’t notice her approach, not until she’s sliding into the spot next to Sunghoon like she belongs there. Short black hair, bangs that frame her face like she was born with them, big brown eyes. Kim Chaewon is as beautiful as she is smart, and unbelievably kind. Not to mention she’d made cheer captain as a sophomore, and has kept the title all the way into her junior year.
“Hey, Hoon,” she says, voice sweet like honey. You know it shouldn’t, but something twists low and deep in your chest at the way she looks at him. Like she knows him. Like he belongs to her.
You expect him to greet her like he does everyone else. Always polite, but without the extra tenderness he saves for you. Without the small quirk of his lips or the subtle softening of his eyes, because that had always been yours. Your look.
Instead, when he looks at her, his lips quirk up, his eyes soften, and he snags a hand around her waist like he can’t imagine it being anywhere else.
You think this must be a joke. Not a very funny one, but a joke nonetheless. A tasteless prank. Because there is no way Park Sunghoon—the same Park Sunghoon that calls you in the middle of the night and insists he walk you home from class—has his arm around Kim Chaewon and is giving her the same look he gives you.
Yunjin looks just as shocked as you feel, but she’s never been as good at having a poker face as you. Her jaw drops, eyes going wide as she stares at the pair of them. “Um,” she laughs uncomfortably, “Sunghoon do you mind maybe… informing us as to who this is?”
Yunjin knows who Chaewon is, you know that. She's doing that thing she does where she tries to indirectly ask someone something without coming off as rude. For once, you're thankful for her weird methods.
Sunghoon clears his throat, his eyes flickering to yours for a split second before they return to Chaewon. “Right, uh,” he swallows, and you watch as his fingers flex at his side. A nervous habit. “This is Chaewon. We’ve been…seeing each other.”
You blink, your mind going a million miles a minute as you try to make sense of what he’s saying. The words are coming out of his mouth, and yet they still feel fake. Like a figment of your worst nightmare where the boy you’re in love with tells you he’s seeing someone.
“Seeing each other?” You repeat, voice raising in pitch.
Chaewon nods, her lips curling up into a shy smile as she places a hand on Sunghoon's chest. “It was a recent development,” she chuckles.
You feel like you’re going to be sick.
Sunghoon smiles at her before removing his arm from her waist so he can gesture at the three of you. “How do you feel about dinner so Chae can get to know you guys? My treat.”
Chae. How long has this been going on for them to already have cute little nicknames for each other?
The thought of sitting at dinner with them sounds like torture. Having to sit there and watch him touch her? Smile at her? You don’t want to sound jealous (you are), but that’s supposed to be you. You’re the one he should be smiling at—you were the one! You can’t wrap your head around how he could suddenly be seeing someone when just last week he was smiling at you like you meant something to him?
Had you imagined it? Convinced yourself there was something there when he was just being friendly? But even Yunjin said he looked at you differently. Was she just feeding into your delusions?
Heeseung's voice pulls you out of your frenzy, and when you look up, he’s looking straight at you like he can read your mind. “Sorry, man,” he says, eyes staying on you for a moment longer before they shift to Sunghoon. “I’ve gotta get these pictures developed before they close the red room.”
Sunghoon waves him off, “don’t worry about it.” He says, “I’ll see you when we get home tonight. What about you guys?”
There’s absolutely no way you’re going to dinner with them. You can’t, like, physically can’t. You think you’ll die if you do.
Instead of saying that, or coming up with some kind of excuse, what comes out is, “I’m free.”
Yunjin's head snaps to you in shock, and then she blurts out a sudden, “same!”
Jake shrugs, “I’ve got nothing better to do.”
“Great!” Sunghoon grins, “let’s meet at that diner off of fifth? They’re usually open late.”
He walks away after that, hand in hand with Chaewon, and you watch them go while your heart sinks deep into your chest. She’s laughing at something he says, her free hand slapping his arm lightly, and he smiles down at her like she’s the only girl in his universe. The same way you thought he was doing to you.
“Well,” Heeseungs starts, his eyes finding you’d once again, like he can feel the hurt radiating off your body. He probably can. “Since when was that a thing?”
Jake shrugs the way most clueless men do. “No idea.”
The two of them walk away after that, and you’re thankful to be left alone with Yunjin.
“What the fuck?” She says, hands resting on her hips. “That’s gotta be a joke. Or maybe some kind of dare. I don’t fucking know, but there’s no way they’re actually seeing each other! He was literally blowing up your phone two days ago!” She snaps her fingers like she’s made some kind of profound discovery. "It must be some kind of spell. You know, I’ve always thought witches and magic were real–”
“Yunjin,” you interrupt, eyes already glassy and throat closing up with an onslaught of tears. You aren’t going to cry over him–that would be ridiculous, especially since you weren’t even dating, but that doesn’t mean it still doesn’t hurt. If you’re being completely honest, it hurts like hell.
Yunjin notices immediately, and before you can process it, she’s throwing her arms around you and pulling you into her chest in the middle of the field. “I’m sorry, babe,” she sighs, “I really thought he was going to ask you out tonight.”
She’s not the only one.
You just shrug, doing your best to mask your hurt, even though you know there’s no point when it comes to Yunjin. You’ve only known her for six months, yet she’s the only person who can read you like an open book. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not,” she mumbles, pulling away from you and placing her hands on your shoulders. “But it will be. Because we’re going to show Sunghoon exactly what he missed out on.”
You snort, rolling your eyes and shrugging her off of you so you can make the trek back to your shared dorm. “What are you talking about?”
She shrugs, “you’ll see.”
You should question her. Should refuse to go anywhere with her until she tells you what her plan is, but you don’t do any of that. You trust Yunjin, and you know that while her methods may be strange, she does everything with good intentions. Besides, you doubt you won’t be able to handle whatever it is she’s cooking up.
The diner off of 5th is the only place that stays open after ten pm and still serves edible food. It’s a campus staple, which means it’s nearly always packed—especially after games. So, you aren’t too surprised that you have to weave through multiple bodies just to find the table Sunghoon had managed to snag for the five of you, and nobody comments when it takes you nearly five minutes just to make it from the front door to your seats.
“I’m starving,” Yunjin groans, her tongue swiping over her lips as she flips through the menu. The both of you know she’s just going to get the same thing she does every time, but she says she finds joy in looking unpredictable.
“Me too,” Sunghoon agrees.
He looks good. Tired, but good. His hair is falling over his eyes in that dorky kind of way and he’s wearing his glasses—a rare sight. Normally, you’d be the only one doing this much analysis into his look, but when you glance over at Chaewon, she’s staring at him with a dopey grin on her face.
You frown and look down at your menu. You still don’t understand how this could’ve happened. It just didn’t make any sense. When you take out the part where you’re totally in love with Sunghoon, it still makes no sense for him to hide his apparent relationship with Chaewon. Was it a relationship? Are they even dating? Or are they just in that weird space between where you both know it’s going to happen, but they’re still choosing to dance around it?
You’d thought you were there with Sunghoon. You thought it was only a matter of time before he swept you off of your feet and confessed his love for you with some kind of grand, dramatic gesture.
But your life is clearly not a movie, because Park Sunghoon is reaching for Chaewon's hand under the table. His thumb is rubbing small, comforting circles into her skin, and she’s doing a very bad job at hiding her smile.
You shouldn’t have agreed to come.
Jake, for all his strange qualities, has always been observant (except when it comes to possible romantic partners), and he watches the entire exchange with narrowed eyes and bated breath. You’d never talked to him about your relationship with Sunghoon, but he (along with your nemesis) was the guy's roommate, so you assume he must've known that there was something going on between you. Unless you really are just delusional and everything had been entirely friendly.
“So,” Jake starts, wagging his finger towards the couple. “We’re so glad you’re here, Chaewon. Seriously. But I just can’t believe this is the first I’m hearing about…this. I mean, not to sound like a douche or anything, but I live with Sunghoon and he hasn’t brought you up once. He’s talked about–” his eyes find yours for a fleeting moment, before he clears his throat and tries to pretend it never happened. “It’s just kind of unexpected.”
Chaewon giggles, reaching a hand up and swiping her bangs over her forehead. They fall right back into place. “It was a recent development.”
Yunjin snorts, taking a sip from her cup with the kind of casual confidence you wish you had. “Clearly.”
If anybody catches the irritation in her tone, they don’t comment on it.
“He actually hit me with a football during practice,” Chaewon laughs, bringing her arm up to rest casually behind Sunghoon. You can nearly make out her fingers playing with the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “It was the total opposite of a meet-cute. But it still worked out anyway, because he invited me to coffee as an apology and things just went from there.”
Coffee? He always takes you to coffee. Did they go to the same place you go to? Did he show her the secret menu that’s not really a secret? Did he joke around with your favorite barista like he does when he’s with you?
Your throat feels tight again, but you suck down a gulp from your drink and try to act like you aren’t on the brink of emotional collapse.
Yunjin smiles, but it looks forced. She taps your thigh once, like she’s warning you, but before you can question it, she’s already opening her mouth. “You know, that’s honestly kind of crazy. Two of my friends are getting into relationships at the same time. You’d think I’d get some of that luck too considering I seem to be the common denominator here, but nope!”
You blink. You love Yunjin, you really do, but outside of you the only other person you saw her consistently speak to is her pet gerbil. And even that was leaning into more of a casual situation lately.
Sunghoon’s eyebrows raise briefly, but he’s quick to lower them. “Really?” He mumbles. You can practically feel the curiosity radiating off of him. He’s always been way too nosy. “Who?”
The next few moments are still a bit of a blur in your mind. You remember feeling like someone had spilled a bucket of cold water on you, but when you ran a hand through your hair, it was completely dry.
Yunjin smiles, and she looks so innocent you almost believe the lie that rolls off of her tongue like honey. You probably would’ve if it didn't have to do with you. “[Y/N], you’ve been seeing someone recently as well, haven’t you?”
You nearly choke, eyes widening into saucers. You splutter for an answer, blinking rapidly as you do. “What? A relationship? I don’t–well, I mean–maybe–?” It’s not until Yunjin sends a swift heel to your shin do you manage to get out a full sentence. “Yes,” you squeak. “I have been…seeing someone. It’s very recent. Very new. Honestly, I’m just as surprised as you are that it happened so quickly.”
The table goes silent for a moment, and you suddenly feel very, very exposed. You know Yunjin knows you’re a terrible liar, she witnessed it firsthand when you tried to lie about eating her leftover cheesecake, and yet she thought making you lie in a group setting would make your skills any better? If anything, it just made them ten times worse!
You’re waiting for the inevitable–for someone to give an uncomfortable laugh before attempting to move the conversation forward. Meanwhile, you’re going to pray to whatever is listening up in the sky for the floor to swallow you whole and for this day to have never happened.
But that doesn’t happen. Instead, the next few moments are probably the most confusing of your life.
“That’s good, [Y/N],” Sunghoon says, smiling at you the way he does with everyone else. It’s not the smile you’re used to. Not the curl of his lips that would send butterflies fluttering around in your stomach and make your cheeks burst with color. This one is practiced, easy. Entirely wrong. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
You pale, parting your lips to give some shitty excuse. Maybe your delivery man? You met when he was dropping off your amazon vibrator and he complimented you on the brand. A very plausible start to any college relationship, and it’d be easy to hide considering he’s not real.
But before you can tell your made-up story, Yunjin beats you to the punch.
“Oh, you’re going to lose your mind. I know I did when she told me.” She laughs aloud, and when her eyes find yours, you suddenly wish you’d never even gotten out of bed this morning. Maybe finishing the course with a B wouldn’t have been so bad if it meant you got to avoid this terrible fate.
She leans forward on the table, lowering her voice into that soft teasing tilt she’s perfected. “She’s been seeing your other roommate. The one she apparently can’t stand.”
Jake’s eyes widen, his hands slamming on the table so he can lean against them and get a better look at you. He practically screams when he asks, “you’ve been seeing Heeseung?”
You should’ve just taken the dock off of your grade.
“Yunjin, do not come near me right now or I swear to God you’re going to be missing chunks of hair.”
She winces, hands immediately tugging on the red strands. “Anything but the hair! You know it’s my best feature.” She attempts to joke, but you’re having absolutely none of it.
“You realize they live with him, right? What happens when they ask him about his apparent relationship with me?” You snap, slamming the door to your dorm behind you. The walk here had been completely silent—or, at least, it had been from your end. Yunjin spent the entire time trying to act like she hadn’t just lied to all of your friends that you were dating Lee Heeseung. The one person in this world everyone knows you cannot stand.
She flops onto her bed and stretches her arms over her head. “They’re guys! They don’t talk about that kind of stuff. Jake didn’t even know Sunghoon was seeing Chaewon! Which, can we talk about that, actually? I mean, seriously, what the fuck? One second he’s taking you on these cute little dates and the next—”
“Yunjin,” you groan, rubbing the heels of your palm into your eyes. You’re absolutely exhausted, and you aren’t sure how much longer you can talk about Sunghoon without your head wanting to explode. “As much as I’d love to talk about Sunghoon's sparkling love life and my lack of one, I’ve got a nine am tomorrow that I’d rather not have to sleep through because I stayed up all night talking about my nonexistent love life.”
She nods, a small smile on her lips. "No, yeah, of course. But, before you become dead to the world, you’re actually kind of wrong about something.”
“What?”
“Your love life isn’t nonexistent,” she says thoughtfully. “You’re seeing Heeseung, remember?”
You throw the pillow at her so hard you’re surprised it doesn’t mold to her face.
You’ve always enjoyed your nine am literacy analysis lecture. After all, you’re an English major. Literacy analysis is kind of your whole thing.
The only part of the class that is mildly annoying is the fact that you share it with Heeseung. But, surprisingly, he rarely ever bothers you. You aren’t sure if it’s because he’s finally matured and realized it’s stupid to bother you during lecture, or if he’d just gotten bored of the entire thing. Either way, you’d be perfectly fine with whatever the answer was as long as it kept him away from you.
Today though, your nerves are practically fried. Does he know? Did he expose you? You don’t know why he would lie for you, and honestly, you don’t expect him to. He probably laughed out loud before Sunghoon and Jake even asked him about it.
God, you love Yunjin, you really do, but right now you wish she’d stayed home with her gerbil last night. Maybe that way she wouldn’t have been able to open her big mouth.
You don’t look at Heeseung when you enter. You don’t even look in his general direction. You just keep your head down and try to look as normal as possible through the lecture, which is exceptionally difficult when your mind is buzzing with so much nervous energy it could power the entire university.
The usual hour seems to pass by in a blur, and when your professor releases you for dismissal, you’re quick to pack your bags and make a swift exit. You're practically out of breath by the time you make it outside, but you’re relieved you managed to get out without having to make any contact with Heeseung. You aren’t sure you would’ve been able to survive the embarrassment.
You pull the strap of your bag further up your shoulder and pull out your phone, fully ready to call Yunjin and complain to her about the mess she’s gotten you into, but a call of your name forces your head up.
Heeseung makes his way over to you casually, a backwards baseball cap covering up his dirty blonde hair and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. He isn’t giving you that usual teasing smile he always wears when he sees you, instead he looks unusually serious.
You tense, pulse pounding in your ears and alarm bells ringing in your head. You have half the mind to turn and make a run for it, but he reaches you before your feet can move.
“Hi,” he says simply. Casually. Like he’s talking to a friend and asking about the weather.
You hesitate, but return the greeting nonetheless. “...Hi.”
He cracks a smile, but scrunches his nose before it reaches his eyes and his lips fall back down into a straight line. “We need to talk.”
Your blood turns to ice, skin paling before you can stop it. He knows. And if he knows that means he told everyone the truth, and he’s probably already told the entire campus about your stupid lie as well. You’re going to be known as the girl who lied about being in a relationship because she couldn't accept that the boy she likes has a girlfriend, and then you're going to have to transfer somewhere else and start going by a new name.
God, you are going to kill Yunjin. It’ll be like a final goodbye before you’re forced to move across the country.
You shake your head immediately. “No, uh, we don’t actually. I already know what you’re going to say, so I’ll just start packing my things now. No need for this awkward rejection or whatever–not that I’m being rejected by you. God, I’d rather die before I go out with you. But, Yunjin has a big mouth and I never know how to stop her before she says something stupid, so now my social life is totally dead and–”
You’re rambling so fast it takes a moment for you to register that Heeseung's laughing, and even longer to realize that he’s laughing at you. His shoulders shake from the force of it, and the back of his hand comes up to cover his mouth. If this was anyone else, you might even think he looked cute.
You swallow, unable to help the pout that forms on your lips. “And now you’re laughing at me.”
“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, taking in a deep breath and trying to find some composure. “It’s just…you’ve always been really good at jumping to conclusions.”
Your brows furrow, mouth parting as you try to process his words. What does he mean you’re good at jumping to conclusions? Why does he always talk like he knows anything about you? You know they shouldn’t, but the words tick you off. “What are you talking about?”
He shrugs, lips curving up into that smile you’ve unfortunately become way too familiar with. The one that screams trouble and always means he’s up to no good. “I have to admit, I was pretty surprised when Jake grilled me for half an hour last night on our apparent relationship–” you visibly wince, but he ignores it and continues– “but, I thought to myself, why on earth would [Y/N] [L/N] tell our friends we were in a relationship? I figured you had to have a reason, so I went along with it.”
Your jaw drops, eyes blinking a mile a minute like maybe that’ll help everything make sense. Newsflash, it doesn’t–if anything it just makes everything feel ten times more confusing. “You what?”
He shrugs, “you have a reason, right? Otherwise, we just became a couple for no reason. Unless that’s what you wanted? Was this whole thing just an elaborate scheme to get with me?” His voice drops an octave, and he takes a step closer, until suddenly he’s in your space and you can smell the fresh linen from his detergent and his cedarwood cologne. “You know, princess, if you wanted to be with me, all you had to do was ask.”
You might be extremely confused right now, but you’ve got enough sense to know that the last thing you want in your life is to be in a real relationship with him. And you definitely don’t want him calling you princess.
You take a step back, your arms coming up to put space between the two of you. “Ew, no, absolutely not. Like I said, I’d rather die before I dated you.”
He hums, shoving his hands back in his pockets and beginning to walk away. “Okay. I’ll just go tell Jake and Sunghoon that you lied then–”
Your hand shoots out and wraps around his arm before you can stop yourself, and you feel the muscle tense up beneath your fingertips. He stills, his head tilting as he looks back at you.
You swallow, taking your pride down with the saliva. “I’m sorry,” you sigh out, “I just don't know how to go about this without sounding like a total loser.”
His lips curve up and he turns so he’s facing you fully. “You’re going to sound like a loser to me no matter what, so just tell me.”
You glower, your hand dropping back to your side. You try to ignore the warmth lingering in your palm as it balls up at your side. “I’ve had a thing for this guy–”
He nods. “Sunghoon, right?”
Is it really that obvious? You narrow your eyes, “How’d you know? Did he say something about me?”
He shakes his head. “No, but I’ve seen the way you follow each other like lost puppies. I’ve gotta admit, I was surprised when he popped out with Chaewon and not you.”
You don’t know if that makes you feel better or worse. If even Heeseung, the one person you absolutely cannot stand, could see that there was something between you and Sunghoon, then that must mean you aren’t delusional. But, on the other hand, it makes you wonder what made Sunghoon change his mind so quickly.
Were you trying to take things too slow? Did he get bored of the waiting? You thought the dancing around each other was sweet, but maybe he was looking at it differently. Maybe he just got sick of waiting around for you.
Heeseung must notice how your thoughts have wandered, because he waves a hand in front of your face and raises his brows. “You still with me?”
Your eyes snap to him and your cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Yeah, sorry, um, as I was saying, I’ve had a thing for him for a while. So, when he took us to dinner with Chaewon last night, Yunjin had this bright idea to say that I was also in a relationship with…you. And the whole thing just kind of spiraled from there.”
He’s silent for a moment, like he’s processing your words. “She said we were dating to make Sunghoon jealous? How does that work?”
You groan and run a hand over your face. “I don’t know! I don’t know what she was thinking! I’ve already yelled at her over it!” You feel your frustration building again, but you take a deep breath and force it down. “It was stupid. And now you’re dragged into this entire mess and I don’t know how I’m going to tell everyone the truth.”
There are a lot of things you dislike about Heeseung. He’s rude in that passive aggressive kind of way, and he only ever does it to you. He always forgets a pen and never gives yours back when you lend one to him. He’s wildly selfish and thinks that the entire world revolves around him. He also always manages to catch you by surprise, and you absolutely loathe surprises.
Today is no exception.
His lips part in thought, and for the first time you can actually see him thinking about what he’s going to say before he says it. Usually, he just blurts out whatever's on his mind and deals with the consequences later.
“What if…” he hesitates for a moment. “What if you didn’t tell them?”
“What?”
He splutters for a moment, a nervous laugh bubbling from his lips. “I just mean, what if we let everyone think we’re dating? Not that we actually date. That would be…awful.”
“Why would we do that, though?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s not like me having a boyfriend is going to change Sunghoon's mind. And what would you even get out of it aside from undeniable blackmail material?”
He shrugs, “actually Sunghoon looked pretty distraught last night. He kept asking me about you and our budding relationship.”
Your heart skips a beat at that. He was asking about you? It shouldn't affect you like it does, especially when he’s got a girlfriend, but the thought of him thinking about you has butterflies flying around your stomach.
Still, it doesn’t explain why Heeseung would want to help you. He’s never gone out of his way to do it before, so you don’t see why he would now.
“But, what do you get out of this?” You ask, pointing a wary finger at him. “You’ve never been nice enough to actually help me before.”
He scoffs, “first off, that's not true. What about that science project we did Junior year? The one with the ant colony? I partnered up with you after Stella got that weird illness.”
“You mean the ant colony you released into Mrs. Hong's room? She made us deep clean the room every day for, like, two weeks. And Stella had pneumonia.”
“Yeah, but that was after we’d already gotten an A.”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes.
He sighs and pulls out a creme folder from his bag. He taps it once and hands it to you. You accept it questioningly, looking up at him through your lashes with suspicion. “What is this?”
“My portfolio,” he explains. Just as he said, when you open it there's what you think must be hundreds of photos. Some of nature, some of the people on campus, some of just random mundane things. They’re all breathtaking shots, and it's then that you remember he’s here on a full scholarship after winning some national photography contest. It’d been the only thing he talked about for weeks.
You knew he was going to win the moment it was announced.
“Wow,” you mumble, continuing to flip through the photos. “These are amazing.”
He brings a hand up to his neck and scratches at it nervously. “Thanks.”
One picture captures your attention. It’s a candid shot of Sunghoon in class, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, eyebrows tucked in that adorable way they always are when he’s frustrated. The people around him are blurry, and you assume they’re getting their stuff for dismissal.
“The photography committee on campus is holding a competition,” he continues, “$100,000 and your pictures are featured in international art shows. But, in order to enter, I need a muse. Someone I can get consistent pictures of. If we’re “dating”, no one will question why I’m constantly taking pictures of you, and it saves me the hassle of having to ask anyone else.”
You raise a brow. He wants to be in a fake couple so that he can take pictures of you for a contest? It doesn’t feel like a fair trade to you at all. “Why don’t you ask Jake or Sunghoon? I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”
He gives you a fixed look. “I already did, but they both claimed they were too busy. You’re my last resort before I start asking random people on campus.”
The explanation still feels weird to you, but you aren’t going to fight him anymore on it. Besides, you’re still trying to wrap your head around the fact that you’re now in a fake relationship with public enemy number one.
“So…what now?” You ask, closing the folder and handing it back to him. He takes it with steady hands, and when his fingers brush yours, there’s a solid five seconds where your breath catches in your throat and you almost forget about everything you dislike about Heeseung.
“Jay Park’s having a party tomorrow night,” he breathes, lips turning up into that awful smile. “Beer. Dancing. Maybe some weed. Sunghoon and Chaewon will definitely be there, which means you and I will also be there.”
Your nose scrunches at the thought. You’d only gone to one party so far, and the entire experience had been so awful you’d sworn them off completely.
“I don’t really do parties,” you mumble.
Heeseung snorts like that’s the understatement of the century. “We won't stay for long. Just long enough for Sunghoon to see us, and then we’ll go.”
You nod, and the air between the two of you suddenly feels heavy. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and your eyes fall to the floor. “Thank you,” you say sincerely. “For helping me.”
He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t tease. Just nods casually like fake dating people is something he does daily. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, princess.”
You really need to tell him to stop calling you that.
When you tell Yunjin, she doesn’t even try to act surprised. “I knew it would work out,” she says confidently, staring at a pimple in her reflection. “That's why I said it in the first place.”
You roll your eyes, fingers moving over your keyboard rapidly. You need to finish up your analysis paper before the deadline next week, but every time you sit down to write your brain wanders to dirty blonde hair and that annoyingly perfect smile.
“Whatever.” You mumble, “he’s expecting me to go to some party with him tomorrow night, but I don’t know. I really need to finish this paper, and the last time we went to a party I got so drunk I collided with the wall.”
Yunjin snorts at the memory, and then she’s standing and making her way over to you. She sits crisscrossed on your bed and ever-so-gently forces your laptop closed. You don’t argue with her, it’s not like you were getting anything done anyway.
“So, your fake boyfriend–who by the way, is super hot–is asking you to go to a party with him, and you don’t want to because you’d rather stay at home and analyze Edgar Allen Poe?” She asks, drawing out the sentence so you feel completely and utterly stupid.
“It’s not Edgar Allen Poe,” you mutter, “and, I don’t know, this entire thing just feels so insane! Like, what am I hoping happens? Sunghoon realizes he’s actually in love with me and breaks up with Chaewon?”
“Exactly that, yes.” Yunjin nods, like it’s obvious.
You shoot her a glare. “That’s not fair to either of them. If they’re happy, why should I try to ruin that?”
Yunjin sighs, her hands reaching out to grab yours. She brings them into her lap and squeezes them comfortingly. “If they’re happy, then you being in a relationship with Heeseung isn’t going to matter. But you said he asked about you, right? That means he still cares at least a little bit, and if that’s the case, then it’s not fair to Chaewon for him to stay with her.” She smiles softly, her shoulders bobbing as she shrugs them. “I don’t know what he’s doing right now, but I know that there was something going on between the two of you. And if you care about him, you shouldn’t let that go without a fight.”
When she wanted to, Yunjin could give some seriously killer advice. Your lips curve up, chest feeling lighter and mind not so hazy. “Thanks, Yunjin. Seriously. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Die, probably.”
You laugh loudly, throwing your head back with it. “Yeah,” you agree, “probably.”
The next night, your nerves are absolutely shot. Heeseung texted you that he’d pick you and Yunjin up from your dorm at seven, which meant you’d spent the entire day stressed out of your mind.
Sunghoon was going to be there, that much was obvious, but the thought of parading yourself around with Heeseung in front of him makes you feel sick. For one, he knows you. He’s always been able to see right through you, and you have half the mind to think he’ll make your little lie before you even step through the door.
You suck in a breath, your hands smoothing out the sides of your skirt. The dress Yunjin lent you is a lot shorter than anything you’re used to wearing, and the black cloth hugs your curves in a way you’re not entirely used to seeing on yourself. Your heels force your back to arch, highlighting the curve of your spine and the plump of your ass.
You give yourself a once-over in the mirror, hands coming down to tug the fabric further down your thighs. “Are you sure this isn’t too much?” You ask.
Yunjin clicks her tongue, and you can see her fighting with the straps of her own dress through the mirror. “Absolutely not. You look amazing. The guys are going to lose their minds when they see you in that.”
You raise a brow and turn around to face her. “Guys? Like, plural?”
“Well, yeah,” she shrugs, “Sunghoon and Heeseung.”
Sunghoon, yes. You’d love for him to notice you. But Heeseung? Absolutely not. You could seriously care less about what he thinks about you. He was there when you didn’t understand how to get rid of your acne and when makeup was more of a suggestion then something you actually did everyday.
“Ew, no,” you gag, “I don’t care what Lee Heeseung thinks about me. The only reason he’s even helping me is for his portfolio or whatever. He’s not doing it out of the kindness of his heart.”
Yunjin hums, smoothing out her dress and giving herself one final look over in the vanity mirror. She looks amazing–she always does. You aren’t jealous of Yunjin, but sometimes you wonder what it’d be like to have her confidence. “You seriously think he’s doing this just for his portfolio?”
“Um, yeah. That’s what he said.”
She walks over to you then, her chin resting on your shoulder. “I think–and don’t go nuclear on me for this–but I think he likes you. Like, like-likes you.”
A laugh bursts from your chest. That is the single most absurd thing you’ve ever heard in your life. Heeseung can barely stand being in the same room as you without having to get under your skin. He doesn’t like you, he just enjoys pissing you off.
“You’re funny,” you snort, “and so insanely wrong.”
She shrugs and takes a step back from you. “I don’t know, [Y/N]. I don’t know many guys who get into fake relationships with people they dislike just so they can finish their portfolio.”
Your phone buzzes from your bed, and when you pick it up you’ve got a text message from Heeseung saying he’s here.
“You don’t know many guys in general, Yunjin.” You retort. You quickly grab your purse and stuff your phone inside. “He’s here. Don’t say anything weird in the car, please. I think you’ve embarrassed me enough in the last two days to last a lifetime.”
“No promises,” she winks.
Heeseung's car isn’t super nice. It’s pretty typical for any college student, actually. There’s a scratch on the passenger side door and a dent on the hood, and it looks like it could definitely use a round through the car wash. But, despite that, the sight of it makes you nostalgic.
You remember when he pulled into your first day of Junior year with this thing. He bragged about it to anyone who would listen. He’d saved up the entire summer to buy it, and he treated the run down thing like it was his pride and joy. You wonder if that’s still the case today.
He’s leaning against your door when you step outside. Dirty blonde hair, backwards baseball cap, that same fucking smile. The sight alone is enough to irritate you.
But there’s a brief moment where the smile falters. His eyes trail over you, all the way from your heels to your eyes, and you swear you see his ears go the lightest shade of pink.
You raise a brow, but before you can comment on it the smile is back and he’s acting like nothing happened. “Nice dress,” he clicks his tongue, “I didn’t think you owned anything that didn’t look like it came from a librarian's closet.”
You hate him. You hate him so much it hurts your soul. It envelops your being like an ugly monster.
You want to tell him that, but you don’t, because at the end of the day he’s helping you for whatever reason, and your mother told you that hating people was inherently wrong. So, you swallow down your annoyance and make your way to his car. “Can we try and go one night without you being a dick?”
“I don’t know,” he smirks, “you’re the one dating this dick, princess.”
You frown and try not to think about the double meaning behind his words. “Fake dating,” you correct.
“Right. Fake dating.”
The tension between you is thick, and not in the way you’re used to. Instead, this feels like some sort of gravitational pull towards him. Something you’d kept buried that is trying to dig its way back from the grave.
Yunjin groans behind you. You’d nearly forgotten she was here. “God, can you guys just fuck already and get it over with? Your sexual tension is starting to make me jealous.”
“Yunjin!” You practically screech. Your hands gesture wildly as you attempt to defend yourself. “This is not–there is no sexual tension! That’s not what this is!”
She gives you a look that says: don’t make me call bullshit.
You sigh and run a hand over your eyes. “Just get in the car.”
The party is just outside of campus, in Jay Park's two-story home that he mysteriously pays for by himself. (Everyone knows he’s a trust fund baby.) There’s some stragglers outside, all holding red solo cups and trying to act drunker than they really are. You’ve never understood the appeal for parties. To you, they just look like sweat fests that people gaslight themselves into thinking are fun.
Yunjin gets out of the car as soon as you pull up and quickly makes her way over to some guy by the front door. You watch as she tries to talk to him, and for once he doesn’t look intimidated by her outgoing nature. It’s kind of cute, actually.
You, on the other hand, feel a bit sick. For one, you don’t know what you’re going to do when you see Sunghoon. Is he even going to care? Probably not. He literally has a fucking girlfriend, and here you are trying to show off for him like that’ll change anything.
“Hey,” Heeseung murmurs from beside you, his eyebrows knitted together in what you think might be concern. “You good?”
You blink. “I don’t know.” It’s the most honest thing you’ve said all night.
He’s silent for a moment, before he’s letting out a breath and turning to you. “You look good, [Y/N]. Really fucking good. Don’t let a dress like that go to waste because you’re in your head.” He emphasizes his point with a gentle tap to your forehead. “Let’s go in there and show Sunghoon exactly what he lost, yeah?”
You feel your cheeks heat at the compliment, but you force the words to the back of your mind to be dwelled on later. Right now, you just need to get out of this car and get through tonight without wanting to explode. And, honestly, you do want to show Sunghoon what he’s missing out on.
“Okay,” you nod.
He grins. “Okay.”
Inside, the party is practically buzzing with people. There’s a few people you recognize, but it’s mostly randoms that you didn’t even realize you went to school with. That’s the thing about college; you’re always meeting someone new. Your high school was the complete opposite of that–you knew everyone in your graduating class on a personal level.
Heeseung keeps a hand on your lower back the entire time, and for some reason, you’re grateful for the subtle comfort it gives you. Like it’s a reminder that he’s here and that you aren’t going into this mess alone.
You eventually make your way over to the drinks, and Heeseung grabs a can of alcohol for himself and water for you. You raise a brow as he hands it to you. You hadn’t planned to drink, but him handing you water makes you feel like he’s treating you like some little kid.
“Actually,” you clear your throat, pointing towards the other beer can on top of the ice, “I’ll have that.”
He looks caught off guard for a moment, but then he shrugs and hands the can over to you. You open it with a pop and immediately take a swig. It goes down like tar against your tongue, and your nose scrunches in disgust.
He chuckles, “sure you don’t want the water?”
You really do. “I’m sure.”
Your eyes search the crowd for Sunghoon, and sure enough he’s here. He’s playing beer pong with some of his friends from the football team, and Chaewon is at his side cheering every time he scores. They look perfect for each other, and your heart squeezes painfully at the sight. Your hands shake as you take another gulp of your beer.
Heeseung taps your waist once, before he’s tugging you into his side and pulling you towards the dance floor. Alarm bells ring in your head as you weave through the crowd. You can’t dance, anytime you’ve tried you’ve embarrassed yourself so bad you’ve debated never showing your face in public again.
“Heeseung,” you attempt, “I can’t dance!”
“Neither can anyone else here. Besides, we can’t just sit in the corner and expect Sunghoon to care. If he’s having a good time, you need to be having an even better one.” He says easily.
You scoff as he comes to a stop in the middle of the floor, directly in Sunghoon's line of sight. Heeseung has always been able to make confidence look easy–like it’s something he was born with. You, on the other hand, are not like that. Your movements are awkward and you fumble to find a rhythm that doesn’t make you look like you’re on the verge of collapse.
“Wow,” he laughs, whistling lowly when you nearly trip over your own feet. “You weren’t kidding.”
Your eyes narrow as embarrassment flushes your cheeks. “I told you! God, I’m going back to the drinks–”
Before you can walk away, he catches your wrist with his hand and pulls you back towards him. Your chest nearly collides with his, and his face is suddenly so close you can practically taste his breath on yours.
“I’m not making fun of you, princess.” He murmurs, his hands sliding up to rest on your hips, “just…observing.”
His voice is right beside your ear, and the proximity makes your body feel like it’s on fire. Suddenly, the room is too small and all you can think about is him. Sunghoon is a thought so distant in your mind you nearly forget you’d ever been thinking about him in the first place.
He brings his lips to your ear, his grip on your hips tightening the smallest bit. You wonder if he’s able to hear your heartbeat. If he can, does he know it’s beating so rapidly because of him?
“He’s looking,” he murmurs into your hair.
The call back to reality feels like a bucket of ice water against your spine. If Heeseung notices the way you tense, he doesn’t comment on it.
You clear your throat and try to ignore the way your voice shakes. “He is?”
“He was,” he grumbles with a click of his tongue. He pulls back so you can see his eyes, and for a moment you think he almost looks as wrecked as you feel. “I’m going to kiss you.”
Your eyes widen and you nearly choke on your own spit. “What?”
You barely have time to process before he’s bringing a hand up to cup your cheek, the other sliding to your spine and pulling you impossibly closer. You’re so close your noses are nearly touching, and his cedarwood cologne feels like it’s enveloping all of your senses.
“Trust me, okay?” He murmurs.
Later, you’ll say you don’t know how it happened. You’ll tell Yunjin that it all happened so fast and that it really wasn’t that big of a deal. He was just helping you get Sunghoon's attention.
But the truth–the truth is that you want him to kiss you. You want him to take your breath away and for his hands to hold you like he’s afraid he’ll die without you.
And that scares you.
All you can manage is one simple word. “Okay.”
And then his mouth is on yours.
The kiss is awkward at first, more a peck than anything else, but he slides his hand to the back of your neck and pulls you closer and suddenly his tongue is in your mouth and he’s kissing you like you’re something precious.
Your hands slide to his chest instinctively, fists balling up the fabric of his shirt between your fingers. His breath mingles with yours, and his tongue licks into your mouth like you’re the best thing he’s tasted in years.
You can’t help the whine that slides from his lips when he pulls away, your own lips chasing his without your permission. It’s like your body's an addict and he’s your drug of choice.
Heeseung's lips are swollen and his pupils are completely blown, but you doubt you look much better. His tongue darts out to swipe at his lower lip, and then he’s smiling at you. But it’s not the teasing smile you’re used to or the one he gives everyone else. It’s softer. Real.
Your lips part to say something, anything, but then your thoughts go back to Sunghoon and what comes out instead is a soft, “did he see?”
Heeseungs smile immediately drops, and something akin to disappointment flashes over his face. You don’t know why the sight makes you cringe internally.
He glances up and nods his head. “Yeah,” he says, using his grip on your hips to turn you around, “he definitely saw.”
When you look, Sunghoon’s cheeks are pink and he’s staring directly at you. When he sees you looking, he’s quick to avert his gaze and try to act casually, but you know Sunghoon. He’s jealous.
This is a complete win.
So, why don’t you care as much as you should?
You should be ecstatic that Sunghoon’s feeling a certain way towards you. That’s the whole point of this stupid deal–to get Sunghoon back.
But when you turn back around and look at Heeseung, all you can think about is the way he smiled at you like you meant something to him. And how you hope he does it again.
It’s been a week since the kiss. A full week of acting like a couple. Holding hands on campus, cheek kisses in class, coffee dates at the cafe you used to frequent with Sunghoon.
It’s…weird. Somewhere along the way, you stopped hating Heeseung's general presence. Instead of a nemesis, he’s managed to turn himself into someone you don’t really mind having around. A frenemy, maybe. He’s funny, something you never cared enough to notice before, and he’s got this soft side to him that makes your heart melt the smallest bit.
“So,” Yunjin grins, taking a bite of her ramen. “Any word from Sunghoon?”
Your mouth goes dry at the mention of your apparent crush. In truth, you hadn't really thought about him at all. You used to go to sleep imagining it was Sunghoon next to you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear and holding you like you were something fragile.
Now when you close your eyes at night, all you can think about is the way Heeseung's mouth felt against yours. The way his hands gripped your hips and held you close to him.
It takes everything in you to remember that Sunghoon is the goal. You’re just feeling this way because Heeseung kissed you. Once you have Sunghoon, you’ll get over it completely.
“Um,” you mumble, sinking further into your blankets, “not yet. But Heeseung said he saw him looking at us in the coffee shop the other day. That’s good, right?”
She turns to you, her eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. “It is. So why don’t you sound more excited?”
You immediately go on the defensive. “I am excited! I’m just…tired right now. It’s late, and I’ve been up since seven.”
“Whatever you say.”
In truth, you aren’t that excited. It’s nice that he’s thinking about you. It’s the entire reason you and Heeseung are doing this anyway. So why can you not bring yourself to care more?
Your phone buzzes next to you, and you have to dig through your sheets to find it. When you do, the screen is lit up with a message from Heeseung.
Hey, it reads, got time to take some photos tomorrow? There’s this park just a little off campus that I think would be a good spot.
Right. The portfolio. You’d been so busy with yourself you nearly forgot you were supposed to be helping him as well.
Sure, you reply, what time?
It doesn’t take long for him to respond. I’ll pick you up at eleven. Wear something nice, please.
You heart the message and set your phone down. You aren’t sure what something nice is supposed to entail, but you’ll do your best.
The next morning, you’re waiting outside your dorm in an outfit that you deemed appropriate for the park while also being cute. It isn’t something you usually wear–the long skirt feels restricting and the jean vest is more form-fitting then you thought it would be, but Yunjin swore up and down that you looked great, so you’re choosing to believe her.
You rock back and forth on your feet while you wait, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. Heeseung is never late, but today seems to be an exception to that.
You sigh, ready to turn around and go wait in your dorm, but the sound of your name catches you off guard.
When you look over, Sunghoon is walking over to you. He must’ve been on a run, because his arms are on full display in his sleeveless tank top. Usually, the sight would send your mind reeling. But now you barely even glance towards them.
“Hi, Sunghoon.”
He nods, coming to a stop a few feet in front of you. He’s close enough for you to see the moles on his face, but far enough that you can’t smell his usual expensive cologne. A complete opposite of Heeseungs soft cedarwood and linen.
Why the fuck are you thinking about Heeseungs cologne right now?
“I haven’t seen you in a while,” he says shyly, eyebrows knit together. “I’ve…missed hanging out with you.”
Your heart skips a beat, but for all the wrong reasons.
“Sorry,” you murmur with a shrug. “I’ve just been super busy lately. You know how it gets.” It’s not a lie, you have been busy. Just…busy with Heeseung.
He pauses, his tongue darting out to lick at his lips. He looks like he’s contemplating his next words, which is something you’ve never seen him do. It hurts a bit that your relationship has turned into this. Just a month ago the thought of ignoring Sunghoon would’ve seemed unfathomable. Both of you being in separate relationships (given yours is fake) would’ve been a complete joke. And yet here you are, talking like complete strangers.
“Yeah,” he says eventually, the words quiet and hesitant. “I’ve seen you and Heeseung around campus. I was a little surprised, honestly.”
Your response is dry. Bordering on the edge of annoyance. “Yeah. So was I.”
You both know you’re not talking about Heeseung. For a moment, he almost looks regretful.
“[Y/N]-”
“Hey.”
You didn’t even notice Heeseung's beat up Honda pull onto your street, nor notice him walk out of it. He’s dressed casually in a Decalis University sweatshirt and gray sweatpants. His camera hangs off his neck and rests against his stomach, and his hand instinctively hovers over it as he approaches.
Relief floods your chest at the sight of him. You don’t know why. It must be some kind of hormonal thing.
Sunghoon takes a step back like he’s trying to put up an invisible wall between you. The two live together, and yet the tension radiating off of them makes you wonder what their living situation must be like right now. Jake must be in a constant state of stress.
“You’re late,” you murmur.
Heeseung smiles, his hand reaching for yours and pulling your wrist to his mouth. He leaves a soft kiss on your inner wrist, and your cheeks flare at the gesture.
“Sorry,” he mumbles against your skin. “Traffic.”
You fold immediately. “It’s fine. I was just worried.”
Sunghoon must sense that he’s no longer wanted, because he murmurs a soft goodbye and makes a swift exit. You watch as he jogs away, his forming growing smaller and smaller, and it doesn’t hurt like it used to. It just feels like…nothing. You look back to Heeseung, and any tension you had melts.
“What was that about?” He asks.
You shrug. “Was just saying hello.”
“And?”
You raise a brow. “And what?”
“Did he say anything about me? About our relationship?”
Oh. Right. You’re in love with Sunghoon.
“Oh,” you clear your throat and attempt to act like you hadn’t completely forgotten your deal. “Yeah, he did. I think he’s jealous, but he’s still with Chaewon, so does it even really matter?”
“Trust me, it does.” He snorts, leading you over to his car. “He was talking to Jake last night about how he apparently isn’t feeling any sparks with Chaewon. He wants to break up with her.”
That’s good. That’s what you wanted. You should be ecstatic and your heart should be fluttering in your chest. Instead, all you feel is a cold pang of disappointment.
“Good! That's great. Amazing, even.” You say, attempting to sound the littlest bit excited, but it just comes off flat and dull. Like you’re talking about an assignment and not the boy you’ve been in love with for months.
He gives you a side-eye as he opens the passenger door for you, and you slip in like it’s second nature. At this point, it is. “You don’t sound too excited,” he observes.
You’re not, but you can’t say that. “I’m just shocked, I guess. I don’t understand why he even got with Chaewon in the first place if he didn’t feel anything for her. It’s kind of…mean.”
Heeseung takes a second to respond as he climbs into the driver's seat. He wordlessly hands you his phone and lets you put on your playlist–something you hadn’t even realized was an option. You play Ariana Grande and watch as Heeseung tries to act like he doesn’t enjoy it.
“Sunghoons always been like that,” he says eventually. “He’s impulsive. Doesn’t think about what he’s doing until he’s regretting it and trying to act like he’s not.”
“Why?”
Heeseung shrugs, glancing at you from the corner of his eye for a split second before going back to the road. “Don’t know. It’s just how he is.”
You chew at the inside of your cheek and look out the window. The campus passes by in a blur, people walking to class together, pigeons scavenging for any scraps they can get, the lecture hall you walk to every morning. It’s familiar. Comfortable.
You look back to Heeseung, and instead of annoyance, you get the same feeling you do when you’re looking at campus. Familiarity. Comfort. And it scares you so much your throat nearly constricts.
“Well,” you croak, running a hand through your hair, “that’s stupid. And all it does is hurt the people around him.”
“Yeah,” he agrees softly, “it does.”
You don’t talk the rest of the car ride, and you’re thankful for it. Your mind is too alert for conversation right now. You can smell his cologne, can hear him humming along to Needy by Ariana Grande, can feel his presence consuming your very soul. It’s too much. It’s not enough.
You don’t hate Lee Heeseung. Because your mother used to say that hate was just another word for love, and that is the last thing you feel for the boy you grew up with.
When you arrive at the park, you’re entirely too eager to get out of the car. You barely wait for him to park before you’re practically stumbling out of your seat with the ordinance of a baby giraffe.
Heeseung gives you a look, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Just directs you to where he wants to go with confidence. His hand hovers at your lower back–never touching–just there. Like he’s unsure of what to do with himself when you’re not around your friends and having to keep up your act.
You don’t comment on it.
Eventually, he takes you to a small pond in the middle of the park. There’s white lilies around the water, each of them dancing in the wind while the water flows around them. The sun is bright, shining in your eyes and making you squint slightly. It’s pretty beautiful, actually. You had no idea this place was so close to your campus.
Heeseung directs you on how to pose. How to smile like you have no idea you’re being watched. It’s awkward at first, mostly because the only time you’ve ever had someone take pictures of you like this was during your high school graduation, but it doesn’t take long for the tension to ease into something softer. Easier.
He tells you to sit on the grass and tilt your head towards the pond–but each shot he gets just doesn’t feel right.
“Maybe lean more towards the left?” He mumbles, hand flying out to gesture at you. You do as he says, but apparently, he’s still not getting the shot he wants.
He clicks his tongue in frustration, “no–that’s not–just–let me fix you.”
You furrow your brows. What does that even mean? “You don’t need to fix me, Heeseung–”
He interrupts you with a laugh. “Not like that, idiot. God, you’re always so defensive.”
You part your lips to retort, but before the words can get out, he’s walking towards you and your chin is in his hand, and you suddenly forget how to communicate entirely.
He tilts your head where he wants it, the pink of his tongue poking out the tiniest bit. His face is so close that it takes everything in you to not remember how he’d tasted when his tongue was in your mouth.
You feel your cheeks heat up, but you let him do what he needs to.
“There, that’s the angle.”
“You couldn’t have just told me to tilt my chin up?”
He smiles and goes back to his camera. “I did, princess. You just don’t listen.”
God, he’s so annoying.
But still, your lips curve up and your heart gets that same feeling it did at the party. The one that you’re not quite ready to name.
“Do we really have to go to this brunch?” You groan, flopping down onto your bed. “Sunghoon and Chaewon are going to be there, and I really don’t feel like watching them be all over each other.”
Yunjin shakes her head, “that’s exactly why we have to go. So that you and Heeseung can do it right back to them.”
“They already saw us kiss! What more do we have to do? Feed each other and do that weird baby talk bullshit couples do?”
Yunjin gags and rolls her eyes. “I don’t know what couples you’re talking to, but please tell them I said to stop doing that immediately. But, no, that’s not what I meant. How is it going to look if everyone's there except for you and Heeseung?”
“Um, fine? No one’s going to care.”
“It’s going to look suspicious. Everyone knows you had a thing for Sunghoon before he popped out with Chaewon. You and Heeseung need to prove to everyone–not just Sunghoon–that you’re actually in love.”
You sigh. You know she’s right, you just hate it. Why do you need to prove your fake relationship to your friends? It feels wrong. It feels like lying.
Actually, it is lying.
“I hate lying to everyone,” you sigh, hugging your pillow to your chest. “Makes me feel like a bad friend.”
“You’re not a bad friend,” Yunjin reassures, rolling her chair over to you. It gets caught on the rug for a moment, but she’s quick to force the wheels to move again. “Besides, what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
You give her a look. “That’s like, the worst advice you’ve ever given me.”
She chuckles, “sorry I’m not well versed in the art of therapy for fake dating. I’ll make sure to switch my degree to better accommodate you.”
“That would actually be great, thank you.”
She takes in a breath, her hand reaching for yours. “Just…don’t think of it as lying. Think about it like two friends helping each other out.”
“He’s not my friend.” You scoff, but the words don’t hold any bite behind them. Not like they used to, at least.
Yunjin grins knowingly. “Yeah, he is.”
You don’t bother correcting her again.
Brunch is at noon at that diner off of fifth. The same one you’d gone to when this entire mess started. The same one you’d started falling in love with Sunghoon at. It’s weird now, seeing how much your life has changed in the short amount of time since you were last here.
You have a fake boyfriend now. You don’t talk to Sunghoon. Your life feels like it’s falling apart and coming back together all at once.
You and Heeseung sit next to each other wordlessly, both of you more cautious about touching. It feels like there’s enough space between your leg and his to fill out the Grand Canyon. It shouldn’t bother you, but it does.
Sunghoon holds Chaewon's hand under the table, and their shoulders brush every time they move. It’s irritating and annoying and you strangely enough couldn’t care less about it. That sense of jealousy you’d felt the last time you were here no longer spills over your guts like acid, instead you feel nothing.
You try to force yourself to remember what you’d liked about Sunghoon. He’s kind. Smart. Dedicated. Absolutely fucking gorgeous.
But he’s not…
“Honestly,” Jake says between spoonfuls of biscuits and gravy, “when Yunjin told us you guys were seeing each other, I thought she was lying. I mean, you guys couldn’t even be in the same room without having some kind of argument.”
You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear nervously, “yeah. I was pretty surprised too.”
You don’t miss the way Heeseung cracks a smile at that. “It was kind of sudden, but I'm glad it happened.” He says easily, “means I finally get to stop pretending I can’t stand her.”
You can tell he hadn’t meant to say that last part, because his eyes go wide and he tenses for a second. Not long enough for anyone to catch it, but you do. You see the way fear flashes behind his irises for a moment, the way his breath catches before filling out his chest once again.
Sunghoons throat bobs as he swallows, dark eyes darting between the two of you slowly. “Pretending?” He asks cautiously, like he’s testing the words on his tongue.
But you don’t care about Sunghoon. All you can think about is what Heeseung said. I finally get to stop pretending I can’t stand her. Is he being honest? Or is this all just a part of your act? You hate that you can’t tell.
“Uh,” he laughs nervously, bringing a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. “When we were in school, I didn't know how to get her attention. She was smart and kind and friends with everyone, and I was just…there. She used to do this thing in kindergarten where she’d wait for everyone else to fall asleep during naptime before she did because she didn’t want anyone to have to sit there alone, and I remember thinking she must’ve been sent by some kind of angel.” He laughs then, a genuine one. The kind that lights up his entire face.
You hadn’t even remembered you did that, but it’s true. You did. It always just felt like the right thing to do, but the fact that he remembers it all these years later makes you feel almost dizzy.
“I think it was in third grade when I figured the best way to get her attention was to piss her off,” he continues. “I don’t know why. But I spent the next ten or more years making sure I annoyed her to the best of my ability. I think I just decided that I’d rather have her hate me than not have her in my life at all.”
The table is silent aside from the people talking around you. They’re all having normal conversations while you're going through the biggest existential crisis of your life. You understand that this is supposed to be fake–but that didn’t feel like something he made up on the spot. It felt like he was finally coming clean about something that’d been sitting on his chest for years. And if that’s true, where does that leave you?
“Heeseung…” You attempt, eyes searching the side of his face. When he turns to you, he looks more sincere than you’ve ever seen him. His hand reaches for yours under the table and he intertwines his fingers with yours. The hold is gentle, soft, right. It feels like you’re exactly where you were always supposed to be.
“Sorry,” he laughs, turning back to the group. “That was kind of sappy.”
“Nah, man, that was beautiful.” Jake murmurs, bringing a hand up to his chest. “I’m happy for you guys, seriously.”
“Yeah,” Sunghoon nods, “you guys are good for each other.” He looks resigned. Like he’s accepting defeat. It makes something click in your brain.
For the first time in your life, you think you’re starting to see Heeseung exactly for who he is.
You don’t notice the way he looks at Sunghoon. Or how he swallows back his pride and comes to terms with what he knows he has to do.
You don't comment when he pulls his hand away from you, you just assume it's because he wants to be able to properly eat his food.
When brunch is over, you say your goodbyes to everyone with a pep in your step. You know that telling Heeseung how you’re feeling might complicate things, but he basically just confessed that he remembered things you did in kindergarten. You don’t remember that kind of stuff unless it means something, right?
“I’ll walk you back to your dorm?” He murmurs next to you, and you nod.
“I’d like that.”
There’s tension in the air as you walk, one that you’re practically dying to address. But Heeseung doesn’t look like he did in the diner. He looks conflicted, scared–he keeps his eyes ahead and his hands shoved into his pockets. Nothing like the bright boy you’d been sitting next to barely an hour ago.
“Are you okay?” You ask, voice soft.
He doesn’t even glance at you. “I’m fine.”
“Then why do you look like a kicked puppy?” You attempt to joke, but he doesn't laugh. Instead, he pauses on the sidewalk, and you barely get a few feet in front of him when you notice he’s stopped.
“What’s going on, Heeseung?” You attempt again, reaching for his hand. He pulls it back so sharply you nearly flinch.
“I think…I think we need to stop.” He says finally.
Your heart drops. “What? Why? Did I–Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?"
“No, no, it’s not–” He runs a shaky hand through his hair, “fuck, it’s not you.”
You raise a brow. He’s not making any sense. He wants to stop now? After what he said in the diner? “Then what is it?” You snap.
He shakes his head like the words are too painful to speak. “You like Sunghoon, [Y/N], and he’s going to break up with Chaewon soon. I got the pictures I needed for the competition. There’s no reason to drag this on any longer than we already have.”
His words shouldn’t feel like a breakup, but they do. God, they do. They feel like he’s pulling away from you after you’ve finally come to terms with what you feel for him. “What about what you said in the diner?” You ask finally, voice breaking. “I can’t just act like that didn’t happen, Heeseung. Not when I’m finally–I’m finally…” The words get caught in your throat, but you both know exactly what you mean by them.
His hands squeeze into fists at his side. “That didn’t mean anything, [Y/N].” he says lowly, like breaking your heart is something he does daily. Maybe it was and you just never noticed before. “It was just helping the act. Keeping up the lie. That’s all.”
Tears come to your waterline, the back of your throat beginning to ache from the force of it. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” he says firmly, but you can see the way his eyes are beginning to turn glassy. “I really do.”
He turns on his heel then, leaving you alone on the sidewalk and turning his back onto whatever fucked up thing it is you’ve built together.
Your mother used to say that hate and love were synonymous. You know now that she was wrong.
Because what you feel for Lee Heeseung has nothing to do with love, and everything to do with pure, unadulterated hate.
Your phone chimes, and when you check the notification, what you see doesn't make you feel good. It doesn't bring joy to your heart or make you want to skip down the street. Instead, it makes your heart break a little bit more.
Yunjin: Sunghoon just broke up with Chaewon. We’re so in
You should be happy. This is exactly what you wanted, right?
So why do you feel like you just lost the one thing that mattered the most?
You haven’t talked to Heeseung in three weeks. He transferred out of your shared class–something you didn’t even know was possible this late into the semester–and stopped showing up to any group hangouts. Not that you care, obviously.
The both of you said your breakup was mutual. That the stress of school and work just didn’t make a relationship possible, but there weren’t any hard feelings. Jake had raised a brow at the entire thing, but ultimately accepted it without a word.
But, Sunghoon seeing the both of you being single at the same time again, decided that meant he could shoot his shot. Which is good–it was the entire point of this entire thing, right?
Sunghoon is nice. He holds the door open for you and he pays for your meals and he takes you back to that coffee shop the both of you loved so much.
He is perfect for you in every sense.
But when he sits next to you, you don’t feel that same spark low in your belly. When he makes a joke, you don’t laugh until you swear you’re going to run out of oxygen. He doesn’t look at you like you mean something to him.
Yunjin's not dumb, she knows something's wrong. Just a few months ago you would’ve been ecstatic at the idea of going on dates with Sunghoon, so why do you seem like you couldn’t care less about him now?
“Are you okay?” She asks, voice filled with concern. “You’ve been…distant.”
“I’m fine,” you answer a bit too quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don't know, why don’t you tell me?”
You blink, turning to look at her in your mirror. You’re in the middle of getting ready for you and Sunghoons third date. He told you to dress nicely for dinner, but all you can think about is the fact that Heeseung would be presenting his pictures for the contest tonight. You didn’t even get to see them, which is more annoying than anything else.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Yunjin.” You lie.
She sighs, crossing her arms over her chest and making her way over to you. She smooths down the hem of your skirt without a second thought. “Fine. You don’t have to tell me but, if it’s because of Heeseung–”
“It’s not.”
“–If it’s because of Heeseung, then I’d understand.”
You freeze, eyes snapping to hers. You never told her about the last conversation you’d had with Heeseung, because you figured there wasn’t really any point. He’d “broken up” with you, and that was that. It doesn't mean anything else.
You want Sunghoon. You know you do. It’s the entire reason you and Heeseung came up with that stupid plan in the first place. You aren’t going to throw away a good guy because you’d gotten confused.
“It’s not,” you lie again, “I’m just stressed with finals and stuff. That’s all.”
Yunjin obviously doesn’t believe you. You don’t blame her, of course. You’ve always been an awful liar.
She doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you’re already dreading what she’s going to say. Every time Yunjin goes silent, it always means she’s going to say something that you probably don’t want to hear.
“You know,” she starts, voice soft and low, “I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you looked at him.”
You freeze, a shiver rushing down your spine like ice cold water. “What?”
“I just mean–” She backtracks for a moment before deciding to just say it, “you never look at Sunghoon the way you looked at Heeseung. You looked…happy with him. Like, actually happy. Not just because you thought you were supposed to be, but because you actually felt it.”
You go silent at that. You were happy. Even if you hadn’t wanted to admit it–even if you were fighting it for whatever reason. “I’m happy with Sunghoon.” You say with finality, but you both hear how your voice shakes.
“If you say so,” she sighs, turning back and sitting at her desk. “What’re you guys doing tonight?”
You’re grateful for the change in topic. “He’s taking me to dinner,” you shrug, clipping on your earrings. “Somewhere fancy, I guess.”
She hums. “Do you think he’s going to kiss you tonight?”
God, I really, really hope not.
“I hope so,” you answer instead. Maybe kissing Sunghoon will be exactly what you need to get your mind off of him. “I think I’ve waited long enough.” You laugh, but it’s weak. Dishonest.
Yunjin frowns at the sound of it, but she doesn’t push. “Yeah,” she mumbles, “me too.”
Sunghoon arrives at five on the dot. Just like he said he would. You should’ve been watching the clock because you were excited for him to get here, but instead all you could think about every time you glanced at it was how nervous Heeseung must be right now. The contest starts at seven, which means he finds out in the next two hours if he wins the money. Your hand twitches at your side. You want to text him and say good luck, but you don’t.
“You look beautiful,” Sunghoon says. He’s all dark hair and dark eyes, not a single hair out of place. His suit looks expensive, and you wonder if he bought it just for the occasion. That definitely feels like something he would do.
“Thank you,” you respond, hoping he doesn’t see how fake your smile is. “You clean up pretty nicely as well.”
“I try,” he jokes, outstretching his arm for you. You take it easily, but it doesn’t feel right in your palm. It’s sturdy, easy. But, it doesn’t have any of that fire that you think it should.
Sunghoon is a gentleman the entire night. He takes you to eat, makes corny jokes, kisses your knuckles with pink cheeks. And it’s good. It’s so, so good. It’s exactly what you’ve always wanted.
But when you close your eyes, it’s not Sunghoon you see.
It’s dirty blonde hair covered by some ratty baseball cap. It’s that fucking teasing smile that you used to hate seeing. It’s watching him grow up and having him remember things about you that you’d completely forgotten about.
It’s him. Heeseung.
Sunghoon leads you to your front door nervously, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to get some kind of read on you. You wonder if he can see that your heart isn’t here–that it never was.
“I had a good time tonight,” he says, lips curling up into a soft smile. “I hope it was the same for you.”
“I…” Your words catch in your throat. You know what the logical thing would be to do right now. Accept his compliments, kiss him sweetly, go into your room giddy and wait for him to text you. But it’s wrong. It’s so, so wrong.
“Sunghoon,” you start, eyes filling with tears. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
He’s silent for a split second, like he’s trying to process your words. “Why?” He asks, “Did something happen? Did I–Did I do something?”
God, you wish he had. That would make this entire thing so much easier.
“No,” you laugh wetly, “It’s not you. It’s–it’s me.” You know it’s cliche, but it's true. Because while you should’ve been enjoying him tonight, all you could think about was Heeseung. About the way he’d kissed you at the party. About how he always looked at you like there was more he wanted to say but he just never knew how.
Sunghoon blinks, his eyebrows knitting together and creasing his forehead. “What?”
“You’re perfect, Sunghoon.” you start, the words flowing out of you like you’re finally admitting them to yourself. “And for a long time, you were everything I ever wanted. You went to the cafe with me. You invited me to your games. I thought–I thought that I’d finally found the person I was meant to be with.”
“I–I don’t understand,” he murmurs, “Is that not how you feel anymore?”
Your heart constricts as you shake your head. “I wanted to. I really, really tried to remind myself of how I felt for you before. But…”
It takes him a second, but you see the exact moment recognition flashes across his face. He takes a step back from you, lips falling into a straight line. “But I’m not him.”
You can’t help the sob that rips from your throat. “I’m so sorry, Sunghoon.”
You half expect him to yell, maybe flip you off and drive off in his Porsche while he gets Chaewon on speed dial. But he doesn’t. He stands there for a long moment, breathing slowly, tongue poking the inside of his cheek every now and then.
And then he looks up at you, at the tears staining your cheeks, at how the honesty ripped out of you like a force of nature. He checks his watch–6:50 pm. Ten minutes before the contest starts.
“Come on,” he says, already jogging to the driver's seat.
You’re frozen, watching him with wide eyes. Did he not hear what you just said? “Sunghoon–”
He gives you a look so sharp it nearly steals the breath from your lungs. “We’ve got ten minutes to make it to that contest, and unfortunately, I’m not very big on breaking traffic laws. So, hurry up and get in!”
You gawk at him, a smile curling onto your lips, but you run into his car, nevertheless.
He was right, he’s not big on breaking traffic laws. But you see he’s going five over the speed limit compared to his usual three, and that feels like it counts for something. Even though you’d been leading him on for the past three weeks, he’s still trying to make sure you’re happy. He’s still looking out for you.
“Thank you,” you sniffle. And you truly mean it.
His gaze stays glued to the road. "Don't mention it.”
You arrive at the photography center with two minutes to spare. Sunghoon doesn't even let you say bye, just rushes you out of the car and wishes you good luck. You don’t look back as you run inside.
You’re thankful you at least dressed nicely for the date, because everyone in here looks like they come from money. Women in floorlength gowns, men in suits you’re sure cost more than your entire tuition. These must be the donors.
The hall is filled with pictures, some simple–some you think you have to be involved in the community to understand. But even as you practically sprint down the hallway, Heeseung is nowhere to be found.
“Please make your way to the dining hall as the photography committee prepares to announce the winner of this year's $100,000 grant!” A voice rings from the intercom, and you blindly follow the crowd into the large room parallel to the hall.
It’s filled with tables, and there’s a stage right at the front of the room with a podium and a giant projector. There’s nothing on it yet, but you’re assuming that’s where they’ll show the winning portfolio.
The tables all have name cards, so you do your best to conspicuously make your way to the back where nobody will notice you standing awkwardly. Plus, from back here it’ll be easier to try and find Heeseung.
You study the crowd, looking for the familiar head of blonde hair, but you come up empty. For a second, you wonder if he’s even here. He has to be here, you think. This is everything to him.
But every time someone new walks in, it’s never him.
You rock back and forth on your feet, a nervous habit. Pretty soon all the chairs are filled out and Heeseung is still nowhere to be seen. You wonder if he’d dropped out of the contest, but that still wouldn’t make any sense. Why would he drop out when photography was so important to him?
You reach for your phone, half tempted to call him and ask where the hell he was, but the lights dim and the president of the photography committee walks up the podium. She’s an older woman, with pin straight grey hair and huge glasses. She has to pull down the microphone to match her height. Heeseung used to joke that even though she looked like she belonged in a Disney movie, she was the toughest mentor he’d ever had.
“Thank you all for coming tonight,” she starts, voice light. “We had many great admissions this year. All of which I personally took the time to look through, and let me tell you, there was some tough competition. I almost threw up my hands and gave the money to everyone!”
The crowd laughs at that, but you can tell it’s just them being polite. “But, unfortunately, we can’t do that. So, after many sleepless nights and lots of talks with the committee, I was able to come to a decision. This year's winner is someone I think has put in more effort into his photos than anyone else I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with. He’s not naturally talented, no, but he’s dedicated. He takes risks. He tries new things and doesn’t shy away when they don’t work.”
The projector begins to come to life. “As you know, this year's theme was muse. The participants were meant to find a singular person and put together a portfolio of said person.”
The first photo flashes against the screen–and your breath catches in your throat. It's you. But it’s not the ones from the park, no, it’s you in class. Your pencil is in between your lips; brows scrunched together the way they always are when you get frustrated. You’re not wearing any makeup–hell, you look like you just rolled out of bed!
Your breath catches as the photos continue. Some of you in class, in the diner, at that God forsaken party. All pictures that look old and new at the same time. You can tell some are from after this entire mess started, when you and Heeseung started to actually enjoy each other's presence. You look happier in those ones.
But there’s some from before too–when the only times you ever thought about Heeseung were when you were thinking about how much you can’t stand him. Those ones are mostly you in class, all of them shot from the same angle. There’s a few of you from group hangouts, and you wonder how you never noticed him taking them. Maybe it’s because you’re just so used to seeing him with his camera that you stopped noticing it entirely.
It’s the last photo that really gets you though. It’s from the park, you’re sitting in the grass, head tilted to the side, lips curling up into a soft smile. You’re looking into the camera–or, behind it actually–directly at Heeseung, and the look in your eyes is enough to knock the breath from your lungs.
You look like you’re in love.
“This year's winner–though I doubt anyone's surprised–Is Lee Heeseung!”
You barely register her words, because all you can see is Heeseung walking up onto the stage. So that’s where he was, you think.
He’s wearing a suit, though it doesn’t look nearly as nice as everyone else's here. His dirty blonde hair is actually styled for once, and his lips are curled up into a small smile. But it’s not the one you’re used to seeing. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, doesn’t make his face light up like it usually does. Despite winning, he looks almost sad.
He gives a small bow at the podium, shaking hands with the Committee President. He looks nervous as he comes up to the mic, and you squeeze your hands together. Does he want you here? Should you try and make your presence known?
You are the girl in his photos, after all.
“Wow,” he starts, voice shaking slightly. “This is…an honor. Really. I didn’t go into this contest thinking I would win. In fact, I wasn’t going to enter at all. Not until I realized I’d already accidentally found my muse.” He laughs then, but it’s short. “I entered for selfish reasons. Not for the money. Not so that I could get my photos in international shows. But, because I wanted an excuse to get closer to her.”
His eyes scan the crowd, until finally, they land on you. His eyes widen for a moment, lips parting in shock. For a moment, you think he wants you to leave. You wouldn’t blame him if he did.
But he smiles. Really smiles. “None of this would’ve been possible without her.” He continues now, voice more confident. “These photos would’ve sat tucked away in my camera forever. But she made me confident. She reminded me of why I love photography in the first place. So, I’m dedicating this grant to her. To my muse.” His eyes find yours again. “My [Y/N].”
You don’t get a chance to go up to Heeseung until after all of the sponsors have congratulated him, which admittedly takes a lot longer than you think either of you would like.
You can see him on stage, shaking hands with people who you assume must be important. He never keeps his eyes on them for too long. Instead, they trail over to you, like he’s hoping he’ll be able to communicate with you through eye contact.
By the time you can actually speak to him, the hall is mostly empty aside from a few stragglers. He approaches you with caution, like he’s scared of getting too close.
“Hi,” he breathes, stopping a few feet in front of you.
“Hi,” you say back.
The air is softer than it had been the last time you’d seen him. Then, it was harsh. Like smoke filling into your lungs. Now, it feels like a breath of fresh air.
You’re both silent for a moment, like you’re unsure of what to say to each other.
“I broke it off with Sunghoon,” you say eventually, eyes falling to the floor.
He blinks. “You did?”
“I did.”
“Okay.”
More silence.
“You took pictures of me,” you observe.
“I did.”
“Why?”
He laughs, a full hearty sound, like he’s caught off guard by the question. You don’t know why he would be. You think it’s a perfectly fair thing to ask.
He shrugs, “I felt inspired by you.”
You raise a brow at that. “Inspired? By what—me chewing my pencil like a child?”
He grins, shoving his hands into his pockets. “No. I was inspired by how I felt when I looked at you.”
That makes you pause. “What?”
He fiddles with the corner of his pocket, thumb grazing it once before darting away. He sucks in a deep breath, and then finally, he says everything you know he’s been holding back.
“I’ve been in love with you since we were six years old,” he starts. “Ever since I watched you stay up the entire nap time because Jungwon couldn’t fall asleep. I knew right then and there that I loved you and that I was going to continue to love you for as long as I knew you.”
You can’t help the way your eyes go glassy, heart thumping a million miles an hour in your chest. “Heeseung…”
He doesn’t let you finish. “But I was shy—well, scared is more like it—I was scared that you weren’t going to want to be my friend and I would never be able to be around you.”
“Why would you think that?”
He shrugs, “why does a third grader think anything?”
You don’t have a reply for that.
He sighs before continuing. “After that it just…became a thing. Our thing. I annoyed you and therefore I got to keep being in your life. Even if it wasn't what I wanted, I figured it was better than not being around you at all.” He swallows, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “But then we got to university and you met Sunghoon and I felt you slipping away from me, and I didn’t know what to do with that. I thought that maybe…maybe it was time for me to let you go.”
Your heart cracks at the strain in his voice, like he’s recalling a bad memory.
“So, I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when Jake came home and started asking me a million questions about our apparent relationship.”
“Oh, God,” you laugh, shaking your head at the memory. At the time, it’d genuinely felt like the end of the world. Now, you really can’t imagine where your life would be without Yunjin's lie.
For starters, he probably would’ve never told you this, and you would’ve gone your entire life chopping up your relationship to nothing but a high school rivalry that didn’t have any deeper meaning. You would’ve never found out he felt this way—or that you feel the way you do.
“It was good,” he starts again, “pretending. Even though it wasn’t really pretending for me. And then we went to that diner and I just…I got scared. I didn’t want to hold you back from what you really wanted. I thought, she’s hated me for years, at least now she’ll have an actual reason. And I wanted to be okay with that. I really did.” He takes a step closer. “But now you’re here. And I think I know why, but I’m getting tired of assuming things, princess. So, I think you’ll have to tell me.”
You suck in a shaky breath, your own hands fiddling with the hem of your dress nervously. “I…tried. With Sunghoon. I thought it was what I wanted, the easiness of it all. He was kind and he made bad jokes and I thought I was content with that.”
You roll your eyes, “But then you happened.” You say it like it’s an insult, but you both know it’s not. “And every time I was with him all I could think was how his car didn’t have that mysterious dent in the front. How he didn’t let me play pop music and pretend he wasn’t singing along when we both knew he was. How he didn't make me feel like I actually meant something to him.”
Your eyes find his for the first time since he approached you tonight. “All I could think about was how he wasn’t you.”
For a brief second, the only noise between the two of you is your breathing and the faint hum of people around you. Heeseung's lips part, his Adam's apple bobbing as he takes in your confession. He’s silent for so long you nearly think you overstepped.
But then he’s taking a step towards you and cradling your jaw with his hand. You don’t move away.
“I’m going to kiss you now, okay?” He says, and the familiarity of his words brings a smile to your face.
“Okay. I trust you.”
And then his lips are on yours.
This kiss is different from the first one. It’s not hungry, not a performance for anyone else. This kiss is solely for you, for the love you’ve found and never plan on losing. It tastes like him and feels exactly like coming home.
His thumb rubs the apple of your cheek, his lips moving against yours slowly. He doesn’t use tongue, but you don’t need him to.
When you finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours and brings his hands down to your waist. They feel heavy against you, like a claim you never knew you needed.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he murmurs.
You giggle, bringing your own arms up to wrap around his neck. “Have you?”
“Yeah,” he responds, “along with…other things.”
You raise a brow at that, “yeah? Like what?”
That’s exactly how you end up back at his apartment, his lips moving against yours like he’s trying to memorize your body with them. Jake and Sunghoon are out thankfully, which means you’ve got the entire apartment to yourself.
Heeseung leads you blindly to his room, never once turning away from you or attempting to look where he’s going. You laugh as he trips over the carpet, but he swallows it with his mouth on yours.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says against you. You don’t even notice you’ve made it into your bedroom before your legs hit the mattress and suddenly, he’s pulling you down onto it. “Been waiting so long to have you like this.”
“Yeah?” You manage to say, your voice airy. “Show me, then.”
He pulls back for a moment, eyes looking directly into yours, and then he’s moving his lips to your neck. He leaves wet kisses down the column of your throat, your shoulder, sucking marks into the delicate skin of your collarbone.
His teeth graze a particular spot at your neck that makes you gasp, and he processes the noise with a slight groan of his own. He bites down on the spot–not hard, just enough for your back to arch and your fingers to find purchase in his hair. Your legs wrap around his waist as his tongue shoots out to soothe the bite.
Slowly, he brings a hand up to the strap of your dress, his fingers slipping under it but never pulling down.
“Hee,” you practically whine, “please.”
He grins, and then he pulls the strap down ever so slowly. You know he’s teasing you, and the thought makes heat pool between your legs.
Once the dress is off, he throws it to the side and sits back on his heels so he can stare at you. You still have your underwear and bra on, but the sight of your bare stomach and legs is enough for him to let out a low whistle.
“You’re so beautiful, princess,” he murmurs. The sincerity in his voice makes your cheeks hot. “So fucking perfect.”
Your lips part to respond, but he leans down and kisses you again. This kiss is different from all the others. It’s messy and deep and pulls noises out of you that you weren’t even aware you could make.
He sucks on your bottom lip once, and then he pulls away and leaves kisses all down your body. Down your neck, your cloth-covered breasts, your stomach, all the way down until he leaves one final kiss at your ankle.
He seats himself at the edge of the bed and ever-so-gently pulls you down so your legs hang over the edge of the bed and your cunt is level with his face. He stares at it for a long moment, at the wet patch growing on the lace. At your pretty white panties.
Your hands fist the sheets, legs nearly closing on instinct, but he just pushes them over his shoulders and keeps you open for him. “Don’t hide from me,” he mumbles. His hand slowly trails up your thigh until it finds the edge of your underwear.
He keeps it there for what feels like forever. Never touching. Just looking.
“Please,” you whimper, “please touch me.”
He grins, “yeah? Want my mouth on you, baby?”
You nod, hips rolling against nothing. “Yes, fuck, please.”
That seems to finally break him, because he licks one large stripe up your cunt through your underwear. You gasp at the feeling, your back arching slightly.
He continues licking small kitten-licks over your panties, and the mixture of his saliva and your arousal begins to turn the cloth nearly translucent.
He groans like the taste of you is his favorite meal. “You taste so good,” he murmurs against you, “like heaven.”
You bite your lower lip to keep yourself from crying out when his tongue catches your clit, and then he brings his hands up to your waist and pulls your underwear down your legs. You don’t miss the way he stares at them for a second before letting them drop to the floor.
He spits on your cunt, watching the way his saliva drips down your slit before he sucks your clit into his mouth.
You cry out at the feeling, your toes curling at his back. He groans at the taste and brings his hands up to your hips, gripping them and keeping them still.
“Fuck,” you moan when he brings his tongue down to your hole, collecting the arousal there like it's his own personal ambrosia.
“All this is for me, right?” He questions, trailing a hand down and rubbing his thumb against your clit. The feeling has your head spinning. “Not for Sunghoon, all for me, isn’t that right, princess?”
You nod feverishly, his possessiveness nearly enough to make you finish right there and then. “Yours! ‘S all yours.”
He smirks, “that’s a good girl.”
And then he brings a finger to your entrance, circling over it once before letting it slip inside the ring of muscle. The air punches from your lungs at the feeling, but then he sucks your clit into his mouth again while his finger thrusts into you and you really think you’re going to start seeing stars.
“Hee–Heeseung,” you cry, “fuck!”
He hums but doesn’t stop. Instead, he pushes a second finger inside and begins to curl them upwards. You feel him hit that spongey spot inside of you and you know you’re done for.
“I’m close–fuck,”
He doesn’t work you harder, just keeps going at the pace so he can drag out your orgasm for as long as possible. “Come on, baby, cum for me. Show me just how bad you want it.”
That’s all it takes for you to release all over his face and hand. Your muscles tighten and relax over and over again, back arching and vision going white. He groans and licks up every drop, working you through it without a complaint.
You expect him to stop now that you’ve finished, but he doesn’t. If anything, he goes harder. The overstimulation begins to border on the edge of too much, and your hips buck up without your permission.
“Fuck, too much, I cant–”
He doesn’t let up. “Yeah, you can. Come on, wanna see you fall apart for me all over again.”
It doesn’t take long for your second orgasm to crash over you, and this one nearly leaves your body feeling limp and your pulse to blare against your ears.
Your body is still twitching from aftershocks when he climbs up next to you, and you watch with blurry vision as he brings his fingers up to his mouth and licks them clean. He hums at the taste and then brings his hands to the hem of his shirt and slips it off.
Your eyes trail over the sight of his bare chest, noting every ridge of muscle and mole, watching the way his chest heaves slightly. He’s absolutely beautiful, like a painting you’d find at some stupidly expensive art show.
“You’re beautiful,” you murmur.
Now it’s his turn to blush. His ears and cheeks turn a slight shade of pink, but he brings his lips down to yours before you can tease him for it.
Before you know it, his underwear is off and he’s lining himself up with your entrance. He looks up to you for permission, and you nod at him.
Pressure blooms between your legs as he pushes in, but it isn’t exactly painful. It just feels like something you never knew you needed. Like he was made exactly for you.
You keen, back bowing off the bed and eyebrows knitting together. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek and rests his forehead against yours as he finally bottoms out.
You can feel him kissing your g-spot, and he experimentally rolls his hips against yours once. You both groan at the feeling of you tightening around him, and then he pulls out slightly and snaps back in.
You cry out, your nails raking down his back. He hisses slightly at the sting but doesn’t make any moves to stop you. Instead, he begins to rock onto you like his life depends on it. You can feel every ridge of his cock; can feel the way it curves at just the right angle.
“You feel so fucking good,” he gasps, “so perfect. Always knew you would.”
He buries his face into your neck, his hips snapping against yours like his life depends on it.
You feel yourself getting close, but before you can warn him your back is arching and you're finishing against him.
He cries out, his thrusts beginning to turn sloppy. “Fuck, fuck, I’m–” He finishes inside you without another word, painting your insides with his cum.
You both lay there for a moment, trying to catch your breath. He pulls out of you with a low breath and then reaches over for something at his nightstand to clean you up silently.
You watch him as he does, noting the way he cleans up your thighs with so much care. He doesn’t rush the aftercare process either, he kisses your skin gently and murmurs sweet words against you.
By the time your thighs stop shaking and you actually feel like you can breathe without your chest caving in, he’s laying down beside you and pulling you against his chest.
You lay there for a moment, feeling the way his chest rises and falls against your back. The warmth from his skin.
“Heeseung?” You mumble.
“Hm?”
You blink, a smile curling onto your lips. “I love you.”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “I love you, too.”
And for once, you know that you both mean it.
Your mother used to say that hate was just another word for love. And right now, you know that she was right. Because what you feel for Lee Heeseung used to have everything to do with hate, but now you know it was really just another word for love.
dilf!psh x reader, dads bsf!psh, age gap, virginity loss, toxic parental relationship, alcoholism, daddy issues, fingering, mutual masturbation, recording, unprotected sex, hyung line mentioned, smoking, illit moka & minju mentioned, not proofread 6.8k wc
when your father's disgustingly good-looking best friend drops off your drunk dad, only to stay behind and distract you from the pain.
don't like? don't read.
you loved school.
not because you were some overly studious nerd who couldn't get enough of textbooks and homework, but because school felt freeing. it was the only place where your lungs didn’t burn with the suffocating scent of alcohol.
home was different.
you dreaded walking back every afternoon, fingers tightening around your bag as you stood outside the front door, already knowing what waited on the other side.
the smell hit first.
sharp. bitter. stale.
it clung to the walls, the furniture and your clothes like it had permanently seeped into every corner of your life.
you hated it. you hated what caused it even more.
your dad.
ever since your mom died from a brutal car accident, your life had never been the same.
what was once a warm, happy family slowly fell apart piece by piece. your dad changed after her death. at first it was only a drink or two after work, small enough for you to pretend it wasn’t becoming a problem.
but as the days turned into months, and the months into years, his grief only grew heavier.
and so did the drinking.
he drowned himself in alcohol so often that eventually, it felt like he stopped being your father altogether. the man who used to laugh with your mom in the kitchen and drive you to school every morning became nothing more than a stranger passing through the house.
now, you couldn’t even remember the last proper conversation the two of you had without it turning into some sort of argument.
it had probably been almost two years.
you kept your bag slung over one shoulder as you sat in class, staring at your notebook without really seeing it.
you blinked slowly, forcing yourself to write a few words down just so it looked like you were listening.
around you, everyone else seemed more awake than you felt.
moka was somewhere nearby, probably already done copying notes and now quietly kicking your chair just to get your attention.
“psst,” she whispered. “you’re literally spacing out again.”
you turned your head slightly, forcing a small hum of acknowledgment.
“i’m not,” you mumbled.
instead of turning back to her work, she leaned forward a little.
“hey,” she whispered again. “random question.”
“do you think minju likes anyone?” that got your attention.
you glanced at her. “what?”
moka tried (and failed) to look casual.
“nothing. i was just wondering.”
you stared at her for a second, “you like her.”
“shh!” moka immediately hissed, looking around even though nobody was paying attention. “keep your voice down.”
you couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips, “wow.”
you let out a quiet laugh.
for the first time all lesson, moka looked more distracted than you did.
the bell eventually came like a relief you didn’t realize you were waiting for.
chairs pushed back, the room filled with noise again, and people started packing up faster than the teacher could even finish speaking.
you moved a little slower, slipping your notebook into your bag while everyone else rushed out.
moka waited for you by the door, rocking back on her heels.
the hallway was crowded, loud with students spilling out of classrooms, lockers slamming shut, voices overlapping everywhere.
you kept your gaze forward, letting moka talk beside you about something random—someone’s drama, a test she barely studied for, a teacher she didn’t like.
you responded here and there, but your answers were short, half there.
at one point, minju passed by with a few friends and moka's sentence immediately cut off.
you watched her eyes follow minju for a second before she quickly looked away.
“you are so obvious,” you said.
“i literally didn't do anything.”
“right.”
“i didn't!”
by the time you reached the school gates, the air outside felt slightly better.
you slowed down without realizing it as you began to focus on what moka had to say.
“come on, y/n!” moka whined, dramatically tugging on your arm as the two of you walked out of school. “it’s been forever, and we’re always hanging out at my place. i wanna go to yours for once too.”
you let out a quiet sigh, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.
“maybe another time.”
“that’s what you said last time,” she pouted, narrowing her eyes at you suspiciously. “and the time before that. are you secretly hiding something in your house or something?”
if only she knew.
your grip tightened slightly around your bag. “it’s just messy.”
“messy?” moka scoffed. “y/n, my room literally looks like a tornado hit it every other day. i don’t care.”
you forced out a small laugh, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.
moka slowed her steps, her expression softening almost immediately. “hey,” she said quietly, nudging your shoulder. “you know you can tell me if something’s wrong, right?”
the words made something uncomfortable twist in your chest.
because something was wrong.
something had been wrong for years now.
but no matter how many times moka asked, you could never bring yourself to say it out loud. admitting it would make everything feel too real.
so instead, you smiled. "nothing’s wrong,” you lied.
moka stared at you for a moment longer before sighing dramatically again. “fineee. but one day i’m showing up at your house uninvited.”
your heart nearly stops. "don't do that," you give her a playful smile to cover up the anxiousness that filled your heart.
"there’s a convenience store near your house, right? we can just go there.” she suggests.
you paused for a second. “…okay,” you said quietly.
moka immediately lit up and the two of you started walking. her chatter filling the space as she talked about random things you barely registered. your steps slowed slightly the closer you got to your neighborhood, that familiar weight settling in your chest again.
same streets. same air. same feeling you always tried to escape after school.
moka, however, didn’t notice. she was too busy skipping ahead a few steps, pointing at random things like she always did.
inside the convenience store, everything felt almost normal again.
the soft buzz of the fridge, the quiet beeping at the register, the crinkle of snack bags as you and moka wandered the aisles like you had all the time in the world.
moka had already claimed half the store in her arms again. “this is for later,” she said, dropping a pack of chips into her basket. “and this is for now. and this is just… because i feel like it.”
you shook your head slightly, picking out a drink and tossing it into your own hand-held basket. for a moment, it almost felt easy.
then the door slammed open, the bell above it rang too loudly.
you both paused.
a man stumbled inside, slightly off balance, holding onto the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping him upright. his breath was heavy, his eyes unfocused, and he walked straight to the alcohol section without even looking around.
he grabbed a few cans of beer then stopped at the counter.
the cashier greeted him politely, but the man didn’t respond properly. he just stared for a second too long, like he was trying to understand something that wasn’t making sense.
and then his voice suddenly snapped through the store.
“why are you charging me this much? are you trying to rob me or something?”
you stiffened a bit.
the cashier blinked, clearly startled. “sir, that’s the price—”
“don’t lie to me,” the man barked, slamming the cans down harder than necessary. “you think i don’t know what you people do?”
the entire store felt like it had gone quiet.
a few customers glanced over. someone near the entrance stepped back. moka slowly lowered her basket.
you weren’t looking at the cashier anymore.
you were looking at the man.
and something in your chest tightened, cold and familiar, before you could stop it. the moment you realized who it was, everything in your body went still.
the voice. the posture.
no.
no, no, no.
your basket slipped slightly in your hand.
“y/n?” moka whispered, noticing your sudden change. “hey… what’s wrong?”
you couldn’t answer, your throat felt tight like something had wrapped around it and pulled.
your dad’s voice cut through the store again, louder now, more unsteady.
“what are you staring at?”
he turned and his eyes landed on you.
for a split second, there was nothing there. no recognition, just confusion. then it hit him.
“oh,” he said, voice sharpening instantly. “so you’re here.”
moka frowned, looking between you and him. “wait… you know him?”
you still couldn’t speak.
your dad stepped away from the counter, unsteady but suddenly focused on you in a way that made your skin crawl.
“don’t look at me like that,” he snapped, pointing vaguely. “why are you even out? what, you think you can just—”
his voice rose, drawing attention again.
you took a small step back without realizing it.
your breathing was wrong now. too fast. too shallow. like your body didn’t know how to stay inside itself properly.
moka grabbed your arm, panicked. “y/n, hey—hey, look at me.”
his face twisted as he noticed your reaction.
“oh, don’t start with that,” he barked suddenly, louder. “don’t do that, you guilt tripping bitch.”
his words blurred together after that.
all you could feel was the noise. the store. the breathing. the weight of being seen like this. and moka, beside you, suddenly very, very unsure of what she was watching.
your dad’s eyes stayed on you, unfocused and unsteady, like he was seeing you through something warped.
“stop standing there like that,” he snapped suddenly. “you always do this. you always show up at the worst times and make everything—”
he cut himself off, jaw tightening as he dragged a hand down his face.
“you don’t get it,” he muttered, voice rough, fraying at the edges. “the way you look at me.. it's just like her.”
your chest tightened.
he pointed vaguely in your direction, not even fully steady on his feet.
“i wish i never had you.” he said sharply.
it wasn’t a big sentence but it landed like one.
something in you cracked open, too loud in your head. your vision blurred before you could stop it.
moka said your name again, more urgent this time, but it barely reached you. you took a step back before you ran out of the store. vision blurred which completely blind sighted you.
it didn’t matter, you kept moving anyway.
the park had gone quiet by the time midnight rolled in, leaving only the distant hum of cars and the soft rustle of trees moving in the cold air.
you had stayed there for hours without really meaning to, just sitting through the weight of your thoughts until everything blurred.
eventually, your legs carried you home on their own. the closer you got, the heavier everything felt, the familiar streets and dim streetlights doing nothing to ease the tight feeling in your chest.
when you finally reached your building, you paused in front of the door longer than you should have. for a moment, you just stood there, staring at it, as if waiting for something to change if you delayed it long enough.
but nothing did, so you went inside.
the smell hit you the second you stepped in.
stale alcohol, thick and sour, already filling the air like it had nowhere else to go. it clung to everything instantlu, slipping into your lungs before you even had time to brace yourself for it.
then, slowly, you stepped in and let the door close behind you.
you paused in the doorway for a moment, eyes instinctively moving to the living room, expecting to see your dad like usual—slumped on the couch, tv on, bottle in hand.
but the couch was empty, no tv, no movement, no sign of him at all.
your chest tightened slightly as you stepped inside, realizing pretty quickly what that meant. he wasn’t home. he had gone out again.
you did enjoy these moments when he was out, when the apartment didn’t feel as suffocating and you could move around freely without the fear of running into him.
you made your way to your room, closing the door behind you a little too softly, like even sound felt dangerous tonight.
once you were inside, you sat on the edge of your bed and finally reached for your phone. the screen lit up immediately, a few notifications already waiting for you.
there were multiple messages, all sent not long after you ran out of the store.
where are you??
please answer me
im so sorry about him, i didnt know your dad was like that
are you okay??
you stared at moka’s messages for a moment longer, your thumb hovering before you finally typed back.
im okay
you didn’t wait for a reply.
instead, you locked your phone and set it aside, like that alone could shut the world out for a while. then you got up and headed to the bathroom, moving on autopilot.
the shower helped a little, but not enough to really fix anything. just enough to blur your thoughts at the edges, to make the day feel slightly farther away than it was before.
when you were done, you changed into something comfortable—an oversized shirt that swallowed your frame, soft shorts, and a pair of socks that made your steps quieter against the floor.
you didn’t feel better.
but at least you felt a little less like you were holding everything together.
you eventually made your way downstairs, more out of habit than hunger, opening the fridge and staring at it for a moment before grabbing whatever was easiest to make.
a classic nutella sandwich.
the quiet of the apartment helped a little while you moved around the kitchen, focused on the small task in front of you.
suddenly, you hear from the front door a soft click, followed by it opening.
your hands froze mid-motion.
for a second you didn’t even breathe, just standing there as the sound of footsteps reached the entryway.
your mind immediately filled in the worst possibility.
him.
without thinking, you crouched down quickly and slid under the kitchen counter, pulling your legs in close and pressing yourself into the small space as quietly as you could.
your heart was already racing.
a heavier sound, like someone struggling slightly with weight, something being shifted carefully rather than dropped or thrown. the kind of sound that made your stomach tighten all over again because it didn’t fit the scenario your brain had already prepared for.
you hesitantly shifted just enough to peek out from your hiding spot.
what you saw made you freeze completely.
a man you didn’t recognize was inside your apartment, steadying your dad’s unconscious body with a firm grip as he guided him toward the couch. your dad looked completely out of it, barely supported, his weight slumped against the stranger’s shoulder.
the man set him down carefully, adjusting his position so he wouldn’t fall off, before straightening up and finally glancing around the room.
that was when you really saw him properly.
he was really good-looking. like genuinely breath taking. sharp jawline, straight nose that gave his face a clean, structured look.
holy shit.
you slowly rose from under the counter, the man hadn’t noticed you yet, his attention still on your dad as he adjusted him slightly on the couch, making sure he was stable.
carefully, you stepped out into the open, each movement slow and hesitant. only when your footsteps lightly brushed against the floor did he pause.
he turned.
his eyes landed on you, and for a brief second his expression shifted—subtle surprise flickering across his face, like he genuinely hadn’t expected anyone else to be there.
his gaze stayed on you for a moment longer before he spoke, voice calm but curious.
“oh? i didn't know he had a daughter.”
of course that fucker wouldn’t have told anyone about you.
you stepped a little closer, your eyes drifting past the stranger to where your father now lay on the couch, completely out of it. the sight made something in your stomach twist. slumped, unresponsive, the reality of it settling in all over again in a way you didn’t want to look at for too long.
you forced your gaze away.
the man noticed the shift in your expression almost immediately. without saying anything else, he turned and started walking toward the kitchen. a silent cue to go with him.
after a brief hesitation, you followed him.
the apartment felt quieter the farther you moved from the living room, like the tension there stayed behind with your father. the kitchen light was softer, warmer somehow, and he leaned slightly against the counter as he waited, glancing at you once you stepped in behind him.
“sorry, should’ve introduced myself,” he said, glancing at you properly. “i’m sunghoon.”
you noticed the way his eyes lingered on your face for a moment, like he was quietly trying to place you in the picture he already had in his head.
“i’m y/n,” you said softly, your voice coming out smaller than you intended.
there was a brief pause after that.
you found yourself looking back at him properly too, the thick brows that gave him a naturally composed look. the moles on his face, one sitting close to the bridge of his nose, another a little lower on his cheek.
he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, rolling it between his fingers for a second before lighting it. the small spark briefly lit his face, then faded as he took a slow drag, his eyes still resting on you like he hadn’t missed a single thing you’d said or done.
the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy in a way you couldn’t quite name.
“sorry about your dad,” he said after a moment, exhaling faintly to the side so the smoke didn’t drift toward you. his tone stayed calm, almost matter-of-fact, but there was something softer underneath it. “i know he’s… not easy to deal with.”
you weren’t sure what to say to that.
“it’s okay… i’m used to it,” you said quietly, lowering your gaze to the floor instead of looking at him.
sunghoon watched you for a moment, his cigarette still between his fingers as he took another slow drag. there was a slight smirk at the corner of his mouth, not mocking, just faintly amused in a way that made him look even more unreadable.
“we were out having drinks and he passed out like usual,” he said casually, exhaling smoke to the side. his eyes never really left you. “normally i wouldn’t see anyone home. this is the first time i’ve seen you.”
his tone made it sound simple, like he was just stating a fact, but the way he looked at you suggested he was taking in more than just the situation. the way his eyes roamed from your face, down to your chest and legs.
was he checking you out?
he tilted his head slightly, cigarette still between his fingers as he held it out a little in your direction, like it was an offer that didn’t require much thought.
“want one?”
your eyes dropped to it for a second before flicking back up to him, “actually, are you even old enough to?” he asked, tone flat but with a hint of amusement under it.
you scoffed under your breath, the smallest bit of defiance slipping through. “i’m 18. of course i can.”
then your gaze dropped again, voice quieter this time.
“i’ve done it before...”
sunghoon didn’t say anything right away.
he studied you for a moment longer, like he was weighing your words instead of just hearing them. then, without much ceremony, he pulled another cigarette from the pack and offered it anyway.
“then take one, little girl,” he said simply.
your heart skips a beat at the nickname. cheeks flushing before you hesitantly grabbed it.
a lighter flicked between his fingers a second later, and soon enough the quiet of your kitchen was filled with that faint, drifting smoke curling into the air between you.
the kitchen stayed quiet, only the faint hum of the fridge and the slow burn of the cigarette filling the space between you.
sunghoon leaned against the counter like he had nowhere else to be, eyes drifting over you for a moment before settling again. not intense, but observant in a way that made it hard to ignore.
you shifted slightly under his gaze, unsure what to say or do with the silence.
a small exhale left him, almost like a quiet laugh.
“not much of a talker, are we?” he said, voice low and calm, like he was commenting on the weather rather than you.
your eyes flicked up to him briefly before dropping again. “i just don’t know what to say.”
that seemed to amuse him a little more. he took another slow drag, watching you through the smoke as if he was figuring you out.
sunghoon’s gaze drifted away from you, slowly scanning the room like he was taking it in properly for the first time instead of just standing in it.
that’s when he stopped and his eyes settled on the wall behind you.
there was an old framed photo hanging slightly off-center, like it had been put there a long time ago and never adjusted since.
you followed his gaze.
it was a picture from years ago, before everything changed. you were thirteen, caught in a moment you barely felt like belonged to you anymore. smiling too brightly, arms wrapped around your mom and dad in a way that looked so easy, so normal, it almost didn’t feel real now.
sunghoon didn’t say anything right away. his expression shifted slightly, something unreadable passing through his eyes as he looked at it longer than expected.
then he glanced back at you, like he was comparing the photo to the person standing in front of him now.
“you look so happy in that,” he said after a pause.
your throat tightened immediately.
“i was,” you said, then quickly added, softer, “i guess.”
the words hung in the air longer than you meant them to. sunghoon’s expression shifted slightly, something quieter settling in his eyes as he looked at you instead of the photo now.
“he's been like this since your mom died?” he asked. “that man always complains and goes on and on about his dead wife, especially moments before he passes out.”
you chuckled lightly, the words hitting a little too close. “yeah,” you managed.
sunghoon glanced back at the photo “he must've loved her a lot.”
the smile on your face faltered.
“i guess.”
a quiet silence settled between you. your fingers tightened slightly at your sides.
“sometimes i think he forgets he still has someone here.”
the words left his mouth so casually that he probably didn't realize what he'd just said. but you felt them.
all at once.
because he was right.
your father talked about your mother constantly. missed your mother constantly. drank because of your mother constantly.
and somewhere along the way, you'd stopped being his daughter and started becoming just another thing in the house.
you let out a shaky breath, looking down because you couldn’t really look at either him or the photo anymore.
you couldn't even give a response back and that alone was enough to make your chest feel worse.
then sunghoon moved closer. he put down the cigarette before his hand lifted slightly, hesitating for a second like he was deciding whether or not to cross that line, before gently resting on your shoulder and pulling you in.
safe in a way you weren’t used to.
you didn’t even realize you were crying until your face pressed into his shoulder, the tears coming out quieter at first before you couldn’t hold them back anymore.
sunghoon didn’t say anything at first. he just stayed there, one hand lightly at your back, the other at the back of your waist, rubbing a small circle with his thumb.
“i'm sorry baby,” he said eventually, low and close enough that only you could hear it.
his words suddenly crash all over you. reminding you of the times of when your father would comfort you like this in his arms.
he exhales once, small, like he’s pulling himself back.
“it must be hard,” he says. you nod faintly, but don’t move away.
you cried pathetically into his shoulder as he embraced you even tighter, before pulling his head back.
“how about we go to your room?” he said quietly. “we wouldn’t want your father waking up and seeing you like this.”
you blinked, still trying to steady your breathing, and gave a slow nod.
sunghoon knows he shouldn't.
especially not with one of his friends daughter.
he knows he shouldn't be doing this, yet he can't help but continue placing small hickeys across your neck, spreading them down till your collarbone.
youre resting on top of his lap, hands cramped up against his chest as you nervously grasp onto his shirt, feeling confused how you even ended up here.
"i- i don't know if we should be d-doing this..." your voice shakes as he licks over one of the many spots he marked on you.
he chuckles at your words, "shh.. baby, let daddy take care of you alright?"
his hands grip firmly at your waist before he goes back in for another kiss. it's gentle and slow, almost like as if he's savouring the taste of your lips.
you try matching back the rhythm and movement of his lips, but fail miserably as you accidentally bite too hard on your own tongue. you wince lightly from the pain as sunghoon pulls back and smirks at you.
"poor bunny doesn't know how to kiss?" he smirks, almost mocking you for not knowing how to.
you bite your lip, attempting to hide the embarrassment spreading across your face. sunghoon notices and brings his thumb to your lip.
"don't worry my little girl, daddy'll teach you everything."
fuck, his words. the way he comforted you. the way he held you. why was it enough build up the wetness between your legs now?
before you can react, his mouth is on yours again. it's soft, slow and warm, "don't overthink it, just follow my lips," he mumbles against your mouth.
you start to follow the movement of his lips, your hands roaming towards the nape of his neck as he deepens the kiss. his mouth opens slightly as he slowly brings his tongue inside your mouth, meeting yours.
you quiver slightly, unsure of what to do but when sunghoon slides his tongue against yours, your tongue is able to naturally follow his. the kiss had gotten so heated, so wet and sloppy.
as the kiss continued, you felt his growing erection form harder beneath you. in the desperate state you were in, your body instinctively grinded forward on its own, earning a groan from sunghoon.
sunghoon pulls back from the kiss and looks at you. your eyes were hazy, almost like as if you were hallucinated from the kiss.
"keep doing that f'me, you wanna feel good yeah?" you nod your head at his words.
at his orders you continue to grind your clothed core against the large bulge in his pants. your whimper at the friction as you hold onto his arms to balance yourself.
"fuck.. you're doing so well for me," he groans at the pleasure.
his hand suddenly comes to grip your jaw, forcing your mouth open. "stick out your tongue," you're confused but you do as he says, slowly sticking it out. he spits in your mouth, letting it slowly drip until it reaches your tongue.
sunghoon smirks at the sigh infront of him, you with your tongue out thats all covered in his spit, "swallow it all f'me, get a good taste."
without hesitation, you swallow. sunghoon nods his head in approval before his hips continue to move against yours again. his pace is faster now as youre both desperately grinding against each other for release.
"f-fuck.. feels so good.." you moan out as you grip his arms even tighter now.
suddenly, sunghoon grips your shoulders and pushes you back down onto the bed, hovering on top of you. "you look so pretty baby," he leaves a peck to your lips before slowly trailing down from your jaw to your neck, "have you ever done anything like this before?"
when you shake your head, sunghoon gives you a sly smile. "my bunny is still a virgin huh? how cute."
sunghoon doesn't waste time to lift your shirt up, exposing the cute pink bra you wore underneath. he brings his face closer to your clothed chest, placing a kiss right in the middle of your breasts.
he then lifts your bra up aswell, your breasts finally exposed as the cold air hits your skin. your nipples slightly harden at the sudden temperature drop.
sunghoon licks his lips before attaching his mouth to one your nipples, flicking his tongue over it. you gasp at the warmth of his mouth on your chest as you hold onto the bedsheets.
his hands trail from your shoulders down to your thighs, massaging them slowly before his hand makes its way over to your clothed core.
you're absolutely soaked through your shorts, sunghoon smirks at the feeling of your wetness before slowly rubbing your clit through the soaked fabric.
"fuck baby.. you're so wet, all this for me?" he coos at you as you nod your head while gasping at the pleasure his fingers are offering you.
sunghoon grabs onto the hem of your shorts, tugging them once before pulling them down along with your underwear, leaving you completely bare underneath him.
he curses under his breath at the sight of you. you're so undeniably innocent yet so sexy, he can't believe his friend was able to create someone like you.
your legs close together as you feel the embarrassment of being nude hit you. sunghoon notices and forces them apart again, "keep 'em open for me,"
sunghoon doesn't wait any longer before removing his clothing too. he first removes his shirt, revealing his slightly toned abs and biceps which he catches you staring at before smirking to himself.
his hands grip onto the sides of his pants before he pulls them down just below his boxers, his bulge being even more prominent now. his thumbs tug inside his boxers before he slides them down too just half way, revealing his thick cock which was already leaking precum.
your mouth dropped slightly. you were shocked or more should you say... scared? nervous? he was huge. even his tip seemed like it'd be painful enough for you.
sunghoon noticed the nervousness on your face and chuckled, "aw, is my little girl scared? 's okay, daddy's cock will make you feel reaaal good." he says before he leans down and places a kiss on your forehead.
your heart beats like crazy as the wetness continues to pool up underneath you. sunghoon's hands make way to your clit, rubbing it gently in circles.
you grind against his hand, desperate for more. sunghoon only continues to keep slowly rubbing your clit, not giving you the full attention your body craves.
“p-please…” you whispered, the word barely making it past the lump in your throat.
“please what?” he asked quietly.
"your f-fingers.. nghh.. please!" you cry out. sunghoon smirks at the way you beg for it.
"since my bunny's been so good, she deserves it." he whispers loud enough that you can hear it.
his fingers go down to your hole, which was already oozing out the slick and wetness that has been building up for the past 30 minutes since he's been in your room.
he slowly circles over your hole before pushing a finger in slowly. you let out a pleasured moan at the feeling, your body immediately feeling the heat of his fingers.
he starts thrusting his finger in and out slowly, the wetness coating his finger as you moan at the sensation. you continue to grind forward, still desperate for more.
"you know if you want more, you're gonna have to earn for it." he murmured before tapping his cock against your thigh, signaling for what you should do.
you look up at him nervously before looking down at his huge cock, the precum already leaking out. before your hand can fully reach out, sunghoon grabs your wrist with his free hand before spitting onto your palm.
with his spit all over your palm, you sit up slightly as your hand spreads the wetness of his saliva all over his cock before slowly rubbing his tip against the palm of your hand.
sunghoon hisses at the feeling, "fuck, keep doing that baby," he groans before adding a second finger into your cunt, earning a loud moan from you.
and before you both know it, you're both now like two animals in heat desperate to get each other off. you stroke sunghoon's cock at a medium pace, taking in whatever you can as sunghoon keeps fingering you at a faster speed.
"ngh.. shit if you keep doing that.. 'm gonna cum," sunghoon groans loudly.
you bite your lip as you continue to stroke his cock faster, a desperate attempt to match the speed in which he was fingering you at. he was relentless, abusing your little cunt like it didn't matter.
"feel's weird.. i think 'm gonna pee! s-sunghoon stop!" you whimper loudly, the heat in your stomach continuing to boil up. "then do it baby. do it all over me." he demands.
and with that, you cum. more like you squirt, all over him. your legs tremble as your orgasm hits you, your grip on sunghoons cock getting slightly loose but just enough for him to reach his climax and start shooting his cum all over your stomach.
"fuck.. was that your first time squirting bunny?" he questions, looking at the sight beneath him in awe before looking back up at you, seeing you nod your head in fluster.
gosh, you're really going to kill him.
he can't wait to ruin you.
without hesitation, sunghoon pushes you back down again, making you flat against your bed as he spreads open your legs again.
you look down and see that he's still hard. fuck, his sex drive is insane.
he grabs the base of his cock, positioning himself perfectly as he starts to slide his cock up and down your wet cunt, holding onto your thighs for support.
you let out a moan, your cunt still sensitive from your previous orgasm but the pleasure overtakes the sensitivity. he continues to grind against your cunt until he pulls back, slapping his cock against your clit.
"'s not gonna fit.. way too big.." you bite your lip in nervousness as sunghoon lets out a smug smile.
"shhh, daddy'll make it fit. just hold on f'me my little girl," he mumbles into your ear.
he slowly starts pushing the tip in, the pain immediately hitting you, "'s so painful.. daddy it hurts.." you whimper out in pain as your eyes begin to tear up, the nickname coming from your lips too naturally.
sunghoon could cum from your words just now, but it only encourages him to keep going as he continues to push himself in further, filling you up nice and slowly.
sunghoon leans down to kiss you as you whine against his lips, as he finally pushes himself all the way in, having you fully filled up with him now, "fuck, you're so tight. daddy's gonna fuck your little cunnie so good."
you squirm as he starts thrusting into your cunt, his cock ramming in and out you as the sound of your wet cunt and his sloppy thrusts echo throughout your room.
you're so sure that you're moaning loud enough that it could even wake up your dad, but you didn't even care anymore as the pain quickly turned into pleasure as sunghoon was balls deep in you.
"fuuuuck... so good, your pussy is clenching around me. you really love daddy's cock hm?" he almost mocks you but sees as you desperately nod your head.
"yes.. yes! fuck yes 'm loving daddy's cock so much! want m-more!" you whine loudly, drool spilling out of your lips as pleasure overtakes you.
sunghoon continues to quicken his pace, ramming his cock in and out you so deeply as he brings his hand to your stomach and presses down. you could've sworn you almost saw stars at that.
"d-daddy fuck..! nghh... 'm gonna cum.." you whimper.
sunghoon bites your earlobe, "mm, cum for daddy. let it all out," he whispers into your ear.
and with that, you come undone. you grip onto the bedsheets tightly and your legs shake violently as you cum all over his cock, your vision turning white for a few seconds as the orgasm hits you hard.
sunghoon chuckles at how hard you came, slowing down his thrusts to let you ride out your orgasm. your grip slowly loosens on your bedsheets as your breathing starts to slow down and become more calm.
suddenly, sunghoon starts to continue his relentless thrusting,"i still haven't came yet, gonna abuse and use up your lil cunnie." he groans as he quickens up his pace.
the dirty wet sounds of your intimate areas meeting each other fill up the room. one of his hands hold onto your hip as the other goes up to your breast, grabbing and squeezing it as he watches the way they bounce with each thrust.
sunghoon can finally feel the heat in his stomach brew up, "shit, 'm gonna cum inside this pussy," he groans before he quickly grabs his phone and starts to record.
his angles it just right to show how his cock thrusts into you just right while also showing how perfectly your breasts bounce with your mouth open from the pleasure.
sunghoon groans loudly as his orgasm hits him, his cum immediately filling you up. gosh you feel so thick and filled. sunghoon brings down the camera, showing a close up of his cock inside you before pulling out.
as he pulls out, he records how his cum mixed with your wetness oozes out of your hole. he smirks at the sight, bringing the camera up to show the cum over your stomach and then your dazed face as you breathe heavily.
he grabs your face making you look at the camera, "who does this little cunt belong to?" he demands an answer, placing a gentle slap to your clit as you let out a yelp before answering, "y-yours!"
he smirks before rubbing your thigh to soothe out the pain, "yeah? you belong to daddy now. i'll treat you so good, my little girl."
he ends the video before putting his phone back into his pocket. he falls onto the side next to you, wrapping his arms around you as he rubs your back gently.
your face stayed buried against his chest, his presence warm and grounding in a way you didn’t realize you needed until now.
“you did so well my bunny,” he murmured softly after a moment. “i’m so proud of you.”
his voice was quiet, almost like he didn’t want to break the moment. you held onto him a little tighter at his words, your breath uneven.
“don’t leave me… please,” you said, barely above a whisper.
he went still for a second, then shifted just enough to look down at you.
his hand came up to gently hold your cheek, thumb brushing lightly as he steadied you.
“i’m not going anywhere,” he said softly.
and after a pause, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, a silent reassurance.
you stayed there for a moment longer, holding onto him like you were afraid the feeling might disappear if you let go too soon.
jake: dude shes fucking gorgeous
jay: holy shit, there's no way thats his daughter. im so jealous.
heeseung: I wanna use her up too. Not fair Sunghoon.
sunghoon smirks at his friends messages. of course he had to send it to the groupchat (which obviously did not include your dad).
the video of which his cum dripped out of your pussy and where you said that you belonged to sunghoon was enough to drive him and all of his friends crazy (and get all of them hard).
sunghoon: she's totally innocent too, her pussy was so tight.
jay: sounds like heaven.
jake: this isnt fair howd you find this angel wtf??
heeseung: Lets pass her around, she'd probably enjoy that.
jay: we can tell.
jake: shes definitely secretly a slut who likes older men.
jake: cmon hoon.
sunghoon chuckles at his phone.
sunghoon: maybe.
@evanificais do not steal or recreate.
authors note: hii :3 first ever fic, hope y'all enjoy. not proofread cus i physically cannot read my own work but i hope theres not too many mistakes. if i missed any warnings pls lmk!
film contains…….You are doing skin care for your best friend by sitting on his lap as usual, while he is gaming, but accidentally grind on him, ending up with his cock inside you
film caution …….MINORS DO NOT INTERACT Unprotected sex(don’t do it) dry humping, making out/ kissing, grinding, fingering, edging, nipple play, talking abt fem!reader body parts, neck kisses, nipping the neck, spanking, usage of the word ass, clit play?, mentions of nick names like baby and etc, riding, tell me if anything more should be mentioned.
film length………5.2min(5.2k)
film keeper whispers ……….This is my first ever time publishing fic, I’m learning to write since I imagine a lot, I want to get it into words and now I got an idea for this with the help of Pinterest 😪. I tried my best, and slowly I’m gonna start my oneshot, idk how long it’s gonna be 🤷♀️. If any mistakes, let me know. Please request if u want anything. I will try my best to write butI’m a slow writer 😢. Would love moots, reblogs and likes ♥️
film melody playing……….. into you- ariana grande
˚ ༘ 🎞️ ｡𖦹 ° 🎥 ⁀જ⁀➴ film starting……..
The chaotic bursts of neon light from the monitors washes over the room, casting long, jagged shadows against the walls of Heeseung’s room.
The room smells of expensive cologne, ozone from the humming PC, carrying the faint and sterile scent of rosewater and gentle soap in the air.
You are seated on Heeseung’s lap, straddling his hips, knees around them, on his chair, facing him in a position that the friction of your thighs against his jogger’s can’t be ignored.
Heeseung is fully concentrating on his game for now.
His eyes are sharp, darting to every move in the game, playing it very carefully though you are quite a distraction to him.
The headset he has on is filled with sounds of explosions and gunshots, and he pushes one piece of the headset aside so he can hear you.
You hold a small glass jar aloe vera gel, the product cool and smooth between your fingertips.
You’ve been massaging it on his face for the past ten minutes or maybe you just use it as an excuse to stay on his lap longer.
But then still, you don’t care about the game he was playing, you just wanted to end the ‘washing face with whatever soap is there in the shower’ routine for him, so he can get good and fresh skin.
“Stop moving idiot” you murmur, voice soft but firm and commanding him a little because he keeps on moving.
You can feel the heat radiating from him as you blend the cream on his face in small upwards circles.
His jaw is clenched, trying his best not to feel you and your stupid tactics as a distraction, which you are sitting innocently on his lap like you don't understand what’s wrong in doing this.
“I’m in an important fight, Y/N” he grunts, though there’s no real anger behind his voice.
“If I lose this round, I’m gonna blame you and your so-called skincare routine” he adds, mocking lightly.
“Uhh, my skincare routine is obviously way better than whatever you do in the stupid shower,” you retort, sliding your fingers on his temple now.
“No soap is gonna clean your face like my skincare does, your skin feel shit, and it’s screaming for help, so think of this as an upgrade for your face”
He lets out a laugh, his eyes fixed towards the screen. “Sure,” he says as if it’s nothing, “My skin has a mouth and it’s screaming”.
You roll your eyes at that, moving a little back so you can look at him even though he doesn’t.
“Just because it doesn’t have a loud, cocky mouth like you, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” you shoot back.
“And for your kind information,” you continue, leaning closer to his face again, to spread the gel on his face, “You’re skin is so dehydrated, maybe it looks fine, but it really isn’t, so be grateful”
“I should be— What? grateful? Why? And what? I have a cocky mouth?” he splutters, turning towards you showing an exaggerated, horrified expression which was totally just acting.
"First place, I don’t even care about my skin, Second, you should be grateful that I’m letting you do this while I’m literally in the middle of a serious fight, Third—”
“Hey, dont move!,” you interrupt, pushing back his face towards the screen.
“I can’t do it properly, if you keep moving” you add and he becomes quiet and goes back to playing his game very seriously.
You slowly get even more closer to his face.
For real, you’ve done this almost a hundred times before, sitting on his lap touching his face and all stuff, but today something in the air feels different.
For the first time the closeness doesn’t feel normal.
It feels dangerous, surreal and maybe something new.
Every time he breathes near you, every time his chest brushes against yours, you feel your pulse raise.
You try to ignore it, focusing your attention back to what you are doing, but it only makes it worse, because now, you’re actually looking at him.
The sharp line of his nose, the long lashes that fall against his skin, the bambi-like looking eyes, and then your gaze drops down— unintentionally.
You blink, realizing you are staring at him, you shake your head slightly to clear it, pushing those sudden, distracting thoughts away as quickly as they come.
You don't want to be caught by him, which will only make it more embarrassing.
You quickly turn back to your work— properly this time.
So, you shift your weight, moving closer to him, trying to adjust the position so reaching the bridge of his nose would be easier.
As you move, your thighs slide against his joggers, hips very slightly against each other, the friction sending a sudden spark through your body, but you push it away.
It was just a small moment for you, which you just want to ignore, but it sent a shudder through Heeseung’s body which you didn’t know.
“Fuck—” Heeseung groans, throwing his head back against the chair, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down, suddenly gripping your hip with one hand so tightly as you freeze at the pressure.
“Don’t—Don’t fucking do that, I’m trying my best to concentrate, baby” he forces out softly, the words tight as he grits his teeth.
You don’t understand what happened.
One second, you’re applying the gel on his face, moving closer to reach his nose—and the next, he throws his head against the chair and it’s pissing you since you already told him to not move.
“I said to not move, Heeseung!! And seriously, it’s not my mistake that you can’t concentrate on your game” you say, a hint of irritation slipping through your voice.
You don’t understand what is wrong or what is his problem, even though it was quite obvious you couldn’t figure it out, so you just get back to working on his face.
You shift your weight again, trying to adjust your position to get a better angle on his face, slightly moving left.
This movement causes your leggings to unintentionally rub your thigh against his growing hardness.
“Baby, fuck—“ he rasps, as his other hand also leaves keyboard to grab the other side of your hip and holds you so tightly with both of the hands that you were sure it will leave few bruises by tomorrow.
His head abruptly falls on your shoulder as the room fills with the loud harsh blares from the monitor which indicates he lost the game but you didn’t know it.
“Heeseung what the—” before you could even scold him, you gasp from him pulling you down, pressing you against him in a way that you can feel his big bulge on your core.
“Heeseung….” you whisper, your voice trembling.
“Don’t—fucking don’t,” he starts, speaking as his head is still on your shoulder, you hear it in his voice, how he is trying his all best to control himself.
“Don’t tell me stop when all I was doing was sitting here….trying my all best to control myself, while here you are sitting on my fucking lap, moving how ever you want……. God! Y/N you’ve been killing me here, I can’t stop anymore—”
He stops talking, lifting his head from your shoulder before capturing your lips in a searing, aching, desperate kiss, hands moving from your hips to your waist, gripping it so tightly it knocks the air out of your lungs.
He kisses you rough, like gentleness isn’t even an option right now, like he’s done holding back, done pretending this doesn’t mean anything as the gel smears on your face from his face.
All the years of your friendship, when he did his best to hold back, but now he’s done.
For a second you forget how to breathe, the intensity, the desperation and the desire from his mouth against yours, knocking the thoughts out of your brain.
You don’t even process the fact that HE, HE, your best friend is kissing you right now. Never in a million years did you think this out of all would happen—a lie you had a lot of sex dreams with him cuz he was too hot, and……..never mind.
You are still trying to process this when the grip on your waist tightens to pull you out of your thoughts.
The jar slips from your hand, shattering into pieces, and gel spreads everywhere on the floor, but you don’t even notice it.
You melt against him, your hand slowly moving from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, fingers curling tightly in the hair as you pull him closer and kiss him back with the same desire, desperation and intensity.
He lets out a low deep growl, something filled with satisfaction like he knew you would kiss him without holding back.
It vibrates through your whole body, slowly heat starts coiling up in your lower belly more than what you felt a while ago.
You start feeling needy and want him more than you ever did.
But then he pulls back, forehead against yours, his breath hot, and his lips swollen from the hard rough kiss.
“Tell me to stop—” he whispers against your mouth in a low hoarse, octave voice which sends a shiver through your body.
You shake your head instantly before he can even finish.
“No,” you whisper, the word barely leaving your throat. “Don’t. Please don’t ”
You roll your hips against his voluntarily.
You need more.
You need the friction to not be a tease and start being the truth. The reality.
“Fuck—“ Heeseung hisses the moment he hears the deny and feels the roll of your hips directly against his bulge.
This time you’ve done it on purpose, you need more and you are clearly showing it.
He roughly grabs your jaw,tilting your head back, and crashing his lips on to yours again.
This time it’s all tongue and teeth, he doesn’t ask for permission, he claims it like it’s his.
You gasp into the kiss, this was more aggressive and desperate han before.
He takes his chance to enter his tongue into your mouth when you gasp.
His tongue plunges into your mouth, taking in your whispers and every inch of your mouth, he doesn’t waste a single single second.
His palm is hot.
He moves his hand from your waist to your hips as they slowly slip under your long hoodie or probably his which you wear all the time.
His hands move on your lower back, pulling you closer that there isn’t a millimetre also left between you both.
He breaks the kiss to move lower, his lips dragging along your jaw, sucking gently, before moving down to the column of your throat.
You tilt your head back without thinking, giving him more, your fingers going to his shoulders to hold tightly as his kisses grow firmer, more lingering.
“Hee….mm….Hee…” your breath stutters, his name coming from your mouth like a chant, unsteady whispers, which you can’t hold back anymore.
His hand moves down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before delivering a spank.
His palm against your ass made you leave out a loud gasp, your back arching slightly.
He doesn’t pull away, he soothes it down slowly, in a way it makes your toe curl.
The literal sensation sends sparks right over to your core, making you clench a round nothing.
He starts placing open mouthed kisses near your collarbone and neck, his breath hot and damp, leaving the warmth of his mouth behind.
He moves below your ear, instantly financing your sweet spot and nips your skin lightly.
You let out a sharp cry, breathing unsteadily.
The moment you let it out, he leans in again, nipping it harder than before, sucking a dark, purple mark, visibly claiming you.
He follows down to your collarbone, nipping wherever he finds your sweet spots to let out those sweet little sounds that feel like music to his ears.
You don’t stop, you keep whimpering his name, gasping when his tongue darts out to lick gently after nipping on your sweet spots.
You are drenched.
Your panties are suffocatingly tight because of the silk clinging to your folds as you leak for him.
You need him.
You need to feel full.
You were sure it is making it hard to even take in air properly just because of his hot kisses on your body.
One of his hands tugs the hem of your hoodie, asking you permission if he was allowed to remove it while he was still busy marking you up.
“Yes! Please—remove it” you please, your voice cracking a little bit.
He doesn’t even take a second to tug it off, the moment you accept it, in one fluid motion he pulls it off you.
For a second he freezes.
You aren’t wearing a bra, the cool air hitting your bare skin, making your nipples harden and maybe you weren’t even sure if it was air or his gaze all over your body making you turn again and again and again…..
You aren’t wearing anything else except the black lace of your panties peeking out of your tiny shorts you wore.
“Fuck baby—” he growls, his eye’s darkening, pupils expanding until his hazel is almost entirely black.
He looks at you like you’re both sin and miracle given to him at once.
“This is what you have been gatekeeping from me, huh?” he asks, his hands moving to cup the underside of your breast, lifting them up slightly, as his thumb slightly grazes over the peck.
You whimper, throwing your head back at that little touch surge of pleasure shoots to your core.
“This tiny waist,” his hands moving to the mid section, squeezing the softness there, devouring your body with his eyes.
“These wide, beautiful hips,” his finger moving on the waistband, pulling the elastic tight.
He bends a little, pressing a hot, lingering kiss right above the fabric of your panties, his lips grazing the skin of your hip.
The sensation sends a jolt through your body, sending shivers as your legs shake.
“Including the ass you’ve been teasing me with for years,” he said his voice filled with lust and love, and then he looks at you, how you look wrecked just for his touch.
He spanks you again, harder and more firm this time.
You cry out, a sound filled with shock, pleasure and pain, but please wins it all for now.
You thought he would probably soothe it again but no, it was paining harder but he made no movement to touch or soothe it, just casually leans back on to the chair.
He just lets it linger there, making it a reminder for you.
To remind you, who you actually belong to though he hasn’t fucked the shit out you yet.
Now his gaze isn’t on your face, it moves lower.
Your neck. No
Your collarbone. No
Your Shoulders. No
Just shamelessly, directly looking at your breasts with a hungry gaze, something you wanted to see all along.
“And finally……these beautiful, big boobs” he whispers.
He bends down, his lips hovering right over your breast, his hot breath teasing your nipples.
And then he pecks it…..to just tease you more.
The moment his hot breath was on your nipple.
Just his hot breath.
Hot.
Breath.
You found yourself getting hungrier for him, you didn’t want him to tease you, you needed him, right then and there.
He knew it, he knew how you felt, how you are breathing, how you need him, but won’t give you what you want right now.
“Hee please—” you grind on him again but he holds back your hips making you stop, before you please again or tell him how badly you need him.
Then he starts sucking it, like he can’t hold back anymore, like this was the last thing left on the earth, maybe even like he was thirsty for them.
He wants to tease you, but couldn't hold himself back from you either, that grinding, those pleas from your mouth, made him rethink his decision from teasing you.
You could hear his sucking sounds, wet and vulgar, because of the wetness of his saliva spreading on to your nipples.
Your back arches, your hands instinctively find his hair, gripping it tightly.
He groans at the tight pull of his hair, making him harder underneath.
He sucks on your nipples, tongue circling around the peck, and tugging it slightly before sucking it again, doing the same thing over and over again, while his other hand finds your breast, squeezing, kneading it and rolling your nipple in between his fingers.
You moan, loud, honest, no stopping.
The pleasure was too good.
Your hips start bucking instantly against his bulge again, rolling your hips harder than before, grinding more.
He notices it as he pulls back from sucking with a wet plop.
“Eager now baby?” He teases, his voice dropping low.
You nod, hips moving harder, searching for friction.
For a second he thought to let you do something at least for yourself or not stopping you like he was before but no, straight away his hands move to your hips stopping you right when you thought it was getting better.
Then he bends down and moves to the other breast without a word to you, giving it the same attention as before, while his other hand was on the breast which was wet from his saliva, but still playing with it, satisfying you with his hand.
It was good, undeniably you like you, but the fact that your pussy was throbbing to be filled was not ignorable.
You didn't want to wait.
“Hee….please…please..I need you so bad—ahh” you let out a sharp cry as he bites down your nipples, his hands lowering, across your thighs and rids your shorts from your legs without asking you.
“Needy baby?” He asks as he pulls back, like knew nothing.
“Hee—ahhh” you moan when his fingers touch the wetness of your pussy just through the lace black panties.
“So wet for me baby” he coos as he feels the moisture soaking through the lace.
He finally strips them away also, leaving you bare on his lap, pressing against him.
The contact is sharp, as now you are directly pressing against the rough fabric over his bulge.
He finds his way to your clit, pressing on the swollen bud right away, rubbing it in circles with no patience, but with punishing pressure that makes your vision blur.
Your mouth opens, letting out sharp breaths, eyes shut, finally getting whatever you’ve been longing for, you instinctively bite down on your lips as choked sobs and moans come out of your throat.
“No baby, don’t bite your lip, don’t stop, moan for me, darling” he says softly, before pushing 2 fingers into your soaking warmth at once.
You scream from the sudden push, it wasn’t warned, it was too sudden.
He starts pushing deeper into your spongy walls, as your walls clench around his fingers, he groans in your neck, his fingers curling in spots making you moan and vision blur from the pleasure.
“Fuck baby, thats it, take my fingers like a good girl” he finally adds the third finger, stretching you apart as you wail, and then heeseung leans to kiss you again, tongue entering your mouth directly, taking in all your sounds while pumping his fingers in and out, while his thumb presses and circles on your bud.
He moves faster, pulling away from the kiss, gripping your hips tightly while pumping his fingers faster, your hands move to his shoulders tightening as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, while whimpering and gasping, leaving out breathy huffs.
As you feel your orgasm building, tightening low in your belly, just the tension in your thighs becomes unbearable.
“Hee— I’m—” before could even finish your sentence, he pulled out his fingers, just only the pad of his thumb pressing over your swollen clit, trapping the pleasure before it could explode.
Your eyes open wide, blown in shock as a moan of frustration screeches from your throat at the literal loss of his fingers inside.
“Hee, why–” you gasp, hips bucking instinctively towards his hand wanting more.
“Mmm” he just hums, looking down at your pussy while circling your clit, rubbing it in small circles but never quite providing the friction you need to tip over the edge.
“Hee, please!” you whine, trying to grind his hand, but he holds your hip tight enough to not let you move, he is still looking at your pussy, but then finally looks up.
Eyes dark with lust, his smoldering gaze at you making you pause for a second before he says “please, what?” in a low octave, his voice sounding husky.
“I-I need to come,” you wail, grinding on his bulge over his rough fabric making you want more, in fact you’ve never felt this needy.
Him edging you just made it worse, you couldn't take the teasing now, you need him and you won't stop asking for it.
“please hee please I need you, I want you so badly. I can’t take it anymore!!” you beg.
He chuckles, a dark, hungry sound.
He doesn't put his fingers back in you or do anything you asked for.
Instead, he starts to kiss you, deep, demanding kisses that taste of mint and desperation.
The intensity of the kiss swallows you while leaving you breathless and your hands move to his head, running your hands through his long, lustrous black hair.
His tongue slides against yours, sucking and swirling desperately while sliding down his joggers and boxer to pull his cock out.
He pulls away from the kiss, pulling your head back away from his.
You look down into his hands and the moment you saw it, you were starstuck.
He is big.
Not big like you think, very big in a way you weren't sure if you could even take him.
It was shocking.
You knew this was coming, when you guys crossed your lines today but god he is just so big.
His cock is big, fucking standing straight, curling a little but still so so straight in way you never stood in your whole life, wow, it is hot and swollen, throbbing as the tip is in a beautifully pink color, glistening with precum as he held the shaft in his hand.
You are staring at it shamelessly, because who wouldn't look at something so beautiful and gorgeous.
“Like what you see baby?” he asks, when he caught you staring at his cock.
You snap out of your thoughts, raising your head up, eyes locking on to his eyes, as your cheeks burn from embarrassment.
“Want it inside you baby?” he questions as he feels your arousal just by looking at you face.
You nod slightly and that's what it takes before he jerks it on your pussy once, slapping his cock against it a few times, spreading his precum all over.
An unfiltered screech comes out of your throat, showing how needy you are when he slaps the tip on your pussy.
You move a little, rubbing it a little on his cock, whimpering a little.
“You want it so bad right? You’ll get it baby” he doesn't wait another second.
He grips your waist and heaves you upward and then slams you down on to his cock.
Your hands find their way to his shoulders as you scream into the crook of his neck when he buries himself, all the way to the hilt inside you in one fluid, powerful motion.
The fullness is overwhelming, a blunt pressure that hits your cervix and sends ripples of pleasure radiating through your entire lower body.
The sensation is overwhelming, the feeling of being completely filled, the stretch of your pussy, the sudden, intense heat of him deep within your pussy.
You feel your internal muscles spasm around him, clamping down tight, clenching it so tight which makes Heeseung leave a raw guttural growl out feeling you all around him.
His cock twitches inside you, showing how badly he needed this.
“Baby–fuck, so tight…you feel so good baby” he says, his hands sliding down to your ass gripping.
You stay still for a moment, both of you catching your breath, the only sound the heavy thrum of the PC fans and your synchronized gasping.
The gaming chair creaks as you begin to move, tentatively at first, lifting your hips a few inches and then sliding back down.
You only lift an inch before slamming back down, the impact making the gaming chair rock precariously.
The feeling of him filling inside you was so so good, that you didn't care about anyone hearing your moans, as your moans echo all through the room.
Your grip on his shoulder tightens as the pleasure of him being inside you, stretching you apart with his cock was the best feeling you ever felt.
The squelching and wet sounds of your pussy moving on his cock, taking him all the way down to his shaft, then moving back halfway, and falling back down, with your moans and Heeseung’s groans fill you the room.
The sounds are lewd, obscene or even pornographic, it didn't feel real.
You riding your best friend's cock feels like a dreaming true.
You slowly find your rhythm, more confident, more desperate.
Your mouth falls agape, moaning loudly every time you ride him, head falls back as the tip hits that spot that makes you see stars, your breasts bounce with every downward thrust, your hardened nipples scrape against his shirt every time.
“Yes, just like that baby” he groans as his head hits the chair, while he grips your ass and starts lifting you higher so he can move deeper.
You are desperate now, the need for release overriding everything.
The friction against your clit is intense, a searing heat that builds with every slide.
You lean forward, your hair falling over your face, your mouth finding his again.
The kiss is sloppy, desperate, the sound of your tongues clashing mixing with the wet slaps of your bodies.
Tentatively, Heeseung also starts moving his hips up, thrusting upward slowly, testing the waters to see how it would be.
And fuck it, it was so so so good.
“Ahh” you moan as the tip of his cock hits deeper in your pussy, as your walls clench around him in pleasure.
You scream into his mouth, it is so intense, your pussy takes him all the way on to his shaft.
You keep riding him until you feel that low tingling feeling in your lower stomach.
You are about to come, you needed it any minute now.
You are moving faster, breath uneven, shamelessly moaning so loudly, you are sure your neighbours could hear it but you couldn't care less.
“Ngh heee” you wail, you dont know if its pain or pleasure or all together but it was good and stretching you apart and finally you are about to come.
“Hee–hee i-m im coming!!” you choke out, the orgasm is about to come as he moves his hips faster, thrusting harder.
“Yes baby, yes, come for me, come on my cock baby” he says, holding your hips, gripping it so hard, it could leave red marks on it and speeding up the movements, slamming you down onto his cock, taking control.
“Ahh–mm yess, yess im coming!!” you throw your head back, a loud, uncontrolled cry escaping your lips as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you breathless and shaking.
Heeseung doesnt stop, he fucks you through it, chasing his orgasm.
“Hee—” you scream so loudly, it was too much, you are overstimulating, you coat his cok, milking it all the way.
“I-i cant..too much–”
“Yess, you can, you can for me baby” his movements becoming faster, more erratic. He's grunting now, the sounds guttural and raw.
He lifts you slightly and then slams you down, the leather of the chair creaking loudly under the strain.
The sound of your pussy engulfing him is a wet, rhythmic squelch, the air being pushed out of your orifice in small, needy puffs.
“Im-im coming baby” he moves faster again and again.
“Im gonna fill you up, you’re gonna take me like a good girl and fill me up right?” he says as he looks at you and captures your lips into kiss again.
You feel him tense, his entire body turning to stone beneath you.
With one final, deep thrust that feels like it reaches your very soul, he lets out a loud, guttural roar, his entire body tensing.
He gives one final, massive thrust, burying himself as deep as possible as you feel the hot, pulsing jets of his cum hitting your cervix, filling you up, the liquid warmth spreading through your internals.
“Fuck–take it baby”
You moan as he fills you up, while he grunts and finally comes undone inside you which felt so so so good.
As the intensity fades, he doesn't move.
He keeps you pressed against him, his heart hammering against your ribs.
You can feel his cock slowly softening inside you, though he remains deep within. A small amount of semen and lubricant leaks from the junction of your bodies, dripping onto the black leather of the chair with a soft patter.
“That was–soo good” you whisper to him.
He smiles, that goddamn smile that melts you right away, probably even your bones.
He pushes a wet hair stand behind your hair as he finally speaks.
“Very good. Are you happy?” he asks and that genuinely made you feel happy that he was asking your opinion.
You nod, you look wrecked so did he, both of you breathing heavily, faces flushed.
“Are you ok?” he asks you sweetly after showing his dark side which you loved and so did you like that gentleness in his which made your heart filp and beat faster.
You blush as you nod and hide your face in the crook of his neck.
“Dont hide baby” he pulls you back cupping your face.
“Mm” you whine sweetly.
He kisses your forehead gently.
"So," he says, a small, tired smile playing on his lips. "I think I lost that match."
You let out a soft laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder.
"Worth it?"
"The best loss of my life," he whispers, kissing your temple.
Heeseug twitches inside you, making you whimper.
“You’re still inside me hee” you say to him as it hurts a little but don't bother but it's still sticky and messy altogether.
But then he shrugs it off as if it's nothing, you frown and ask him “what?” and try to pull away.
He doesn't let you, he slams you back down as you scream and squeal from shock.
“Hee–” then while you are still inside him, he abruptly stands up, while still holding you tightly around your waist and still inside you.
“Ready for round 2 baby” he asks as you widen your eyes in shock while his cock gets stiff all the way till his shaft again.
“Hee~” he crashes his lips on to yours slamming you onto the wall and starts moving inside you.
written for the heart’s mailroom event ! ༊
✷ lee heeseung is in need of his stupidly hot girlfriend, a.k.a. you. after seven agonizing days of distance, unanswered yearning, and an alarming amount of time spent staring at your photos, he's hanging onto his sanity by a thread. unfortunately for him, you finally come home looking even better than he remembered !
🗯️ 内容 explicit sexual content ♫ 18+ ⸝⸝ intended for mature audiences | minors do not interact ᯓ established relationship, clingy!heeseung, needy!heeseung, mutual pining, masturbation is implied for both parties, dacryphilia, overstimulation, degradation kink, edging, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie !
EL’S ✷ BUBBLE : goodness gracious hi again everybody . . . again i spent like 3-4 days going back and forth with this and brah sorry i just kept laughing my ass off because from start to finish this is literally just smut so eeeerm whatever this is just 7k words of absolute bullshit ! request can be found here, thank u! ( •̀ ω •́ )
The worst part wasn't the distance. It wasn't the timezone difference or the spotty hotel Wi-Fi or the way your voice cracked over FaceTime at 2 AM his time when you thought he was already asleep but he never was.
The worst part was the photos.
You knew exactly what you were doing.
You had to.
There was no universe where you posted that bikini photo, the one where the teal fabric clung to your tits like it was painted on, water droplets rolling down your collarbone, sun making your skin glow like something divine, and didn't know what it would do to him.
Heeseung had been the first person to like it. Three seconds after it went up. He reshared it to his story with a black heart emoji and nobody understood why. His friends thought it was sweet. His followers assumed it was a casual boyfriend thing. But they didn't know that his hand was already down his sweatpants when he did it, that his cock was achingly hard and leaking against his palm, that the black heart was a coded message: I'm losing my fucking mind.
Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours. He counted. He wasn't proud of it.
The first two days were manageable.
You sent him good morning texts with selfies, soft, sleepy, your hair messy and pillow creases on your cheek, and he could handle that. He'd smile at his phone like an idiot, type something disgusting like "you're so cute," and go about his day. But by day three, the photos started arriving. Not the public ones, those were a different kind of torture that he'd scroll through obsessively, zooming in on the curve of your waist, the glimpse of your thighs, the way your lips wrapped around that cocktail straw.
No, the private ones were what broke him.
The first was innocent enough. You were changing after the beach, and you sent a mirror selfie from the hotel bathroom — your damp hair, a white shirt that was slightly see-through from the moisture, clinging to the shape of your breasts, nipples pressing faintly against the fabric, and a pair of black panties underneath. That was it. Just that. You added a caption: "oops, forgot u were on read " and he stopped breathing for a full five seconds.
He screenshotted it. He hated himself for it. He screenshotted it and then he stared at it for twenty minutes, thumb hovering over the call button, cock throbbing in his jeans, and he didn't call because he knew if he heard your voice right then he'd say something pathetic. Something like “please come home” or “I need you so bad it's making me sick” or “I've been hard for three hours and I can't make it stop.”
So he jerked off instead. Right there on the couch, phone in one hand, cock in the other, scrolling through your story, pausing on every frame where your body was visible.
He came embarrassingly fast, under two minutes, with a broken sound that was half moan, half whine, hips bucking up into his fist, and when it was over he felt worse. Not better. Worse. Because his hand wasn't your hand, wasn't your mouth, wasn't your body, and his own orgasm felt like a consolation prize compared to what he actually wanted.
He cleaned up and stared at the ceiling and missed you so much it felt like a physical wound.
Day four was when you sent the photo. He'd later think of it that way, with reverential dread, the way people talk about natural disasters that ruin their lives.
It was a full body shot. You were wearing his black shorts, the ones that were baggy on you, the ones you'd stolen from his drawer before you left, the ones that had to be pinned at the back with a safety pin because they wouldn't stay up. They were slung low on your hips, and he could see the edge of your panties sticking out from underneath, pale pink, a thin strip of lace, the kind you wore when you wanted to feel pretty and not when you wanted to be practical.
Above the waistband, your bare stomach, your navel, and then just a bra, black, simple, pushing your breasts up in a way that made his mouth water. And your hand. Your hand was on your breast, fingers splayed, cupping it through the fabric, and you were looking at the camera with this expression that knowing. It was cruel. You knew what this would do to him. You were doing it on purpose.
His favorite. His absolute favorite. He saved it, he screenshotted it, he sent it to his hidden album, and then he put his phone down and pressed his palms against his eyes and breathed through the wave of arousal that hit him so hard it made his vision blur.
you're wearing my shorts 🤨
That's what he texted you. That's all he could manage.
yeahhh 😿 they smell like u & imy already 🙁 i sleep in them every night, you sent back.
He threw his phone across the couch.
Then he picked it back up, because of course he did.
Day five, you sent nudes. Not even strategically angled ones, real ones, the kind that left nothing to imagination. You were changing, you said, and you just had to show him. Your breasts, bare, your nipples peaked from the air conditioning, one arm stretched out holding the phone, the other covering just enough to be teasing but not enough to hide anything. A second photo: your back, arched, looking over your shoulder, the curve of your ass in those white panties, the dip of your spine, and he could see the strap marks from your bikini, tan lines that made him want to trace them with his tongue.
He sent a voicemail back. He couldn't type. He couldn't form words. So he hit record, and the sound that came out of him was filthy. He was jerking himself off, fast and wet, and he didn't even try to be quiet about it.
He let you hear everything: the slick sound of his fist, the desperate little "hah, hah" of his breathing, the whine that built in his throat, the way he said your name like a prayer and a curse at the same time. "Fuck, baby, I—I need you so bad, I can't—"and then he came, mid-sentence, with a broken moan that cracked at the end, and the voicemail ended with him panting, shaky, barely audible: "Please come home."
You sent back a voice note of your own. Just your voice, breathy and amused: "Aww. Poor baby." And then, softer, almost tender: "Four more days. You can last four more days, right?"
He couldn't. He really, truly couldn't.
Day six, the sexting happened. It started with a check-in, him asking if you'd eaten, if you were staying hydrated, if you were wearing sunscreen, and somehow, inevitably, it derailed. You told him you'd been thinking about him on the beach. About how the water felt, cold and slippery against your skin, and how you wished it was his hands instead. How you'd touched yourself in the shower that morning and imagined it was him, imagined him pressing you against the tile, imagined his mouth on your neck, his fingers inside you.
He was hard before you finished the second message.
"I want to eat you out so bad," he typed, not even caring how desperate he sounded. "I want to put my mouth on you and not stop until you're crying."
"You want to make me cry?"
"I want to make you feel so good you can't help it. I want to taste you. I want—I want—" He couldn't finish. He was too busy coming again, cock pulsing in his grip, spurting over his knuckles, and he hadn't even been looking at anything. Just the words on his screen. Just the thought of you. He came from reading a text message.
Heeseung, twenty-five years old, who prided himself on at least a little stamina, came from words on a screen like a fucking teenager, and he groaned through it, jaw clenched, and thought: I am so, so fucked.
Day seven, the last day, he didn't even touch himself. He just lay in bed and stared at your photos and throbbed. His cock was so hard it ached, flushed and angry and leaking, and he didn't wrap his hand around it because he knew it would be over in seconds and he'd feel even emptier afterward. He just let himself suffer. He let the want build until it was a living thing in his chest, a hollow hunger that no amount of his own touch could fill.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow you'd be home.
He didn't sleep.
You walked through the door at exactly 4:47 PM, and Heeseung was already standing in the hallway like he'd been waiting there for hours, which he had been, since you'd texted him your flight landed, since you'd texted him you were in the cab, since you'd texted him you were five minutes away.
He was wearing his grey sweatpants and an oversized black t-shirt and his hair was messy and he looked like he hadn't slept in a week, and the look on his face when he saw you—
It was hunger. Pure, unfiltered, desperate hunger.
And you looked so fucking good. That was the thing. You knew you did. You'd changed at the airport, into the tiniest denim shorts you owned, the ones that barely covered the bottom curve of your ass, the ones that rode up when you walked. A white tank top, thin enough that the outline of your bikini top was visible underneath, thin enough that if you took that off there would be nothing between your nipples and the fabric but air. Your skin was tanned and glowing and you smelled like coconut and sunlight and he was on you before you even set your suitcase down.
"I missed you," he breathed against your mouth, and then he was kissing you, hands everywhere, your waist, your hips, sliding down to grip your ass through those ridiculous shorts, and he was already hard. You could feel him against your thigh, thick and hot, and he was pressing into you like he couldn't help it, like his body was moving on autopilot, chasing contact.
"I missed you too, baby," you murmured against his lips, and you felt him shiver at the endearment. Your hands came up to card through his hair, and you tugged, just a gentle pull, just enough to tilt his head back, and his breath caught audibly. A small, broken sound that went straight between your legs.
Heeseung, your boyfriend, your pathetic, beautiful, desperate boy, was already trembling.
"Let me—can I—" He couldn't finish a sentence. His hands were shaking where they gripped your waist. He was looking at you with those big, dark eyes, pupils blown so wide the brown was barely visible, and there was a flush creeping up his neck, staining his cheeks pink. "Please. I need—it's been a week and I can't—"
"Can't what?" you asked, and your voice was low and teasing, a dangerous lilt that made his cock twitch. You knew exactly what he couldn't do. You wanted to hear him say it.
"I can't think about anything except you," he said, and his voice cracked on the word you, cracked like he was about to cry, and god, that did something to you. "I've been—I've been so hard, all week, and my hand isn't enough, and I keep coming but it doesn't help, and I—"
"Shh," you said, and you pressed your thumb to his lower lip, and his mouth fell open instantly, pliant and willing, and his tongue darted out to wet the pad of your thumb and you felt a pulse of heat between your thighs. "I'm here now. I'm going to take care of you, okay?"
He nodded frantically, your thumb still on his lips, and he looked so pretty like this — desperate and flushed and hanging on your every word.
You pulled his hair again, harder this time, and he moaned. Actually moaned, loud and shameless, head tipping back to expose the long line of his throat, and you took the opportunity to bite his neck, not gently, not a love bite, a real bite, teeth sinking into the muscle, and he bucked against you with a sound that was dangerously close to a whimper.
"Bedroom," you said.
Heeseung was on the bed before you finished the word, sitting on the edge, looking up at you with those wide, eager eyes, and you stood between his spread legs and looked down at him and felt powerful. You felt powerful alright. This boy, this beautiful, needy, pathetic boy, was literally shaking with want for you, and you'd barely touched him.
You reached down and took off your tank top, slow, dragging it up your body, and his eyes tracked the movement like he was hypnotized. Underneath was the bikini top, teal, the same one from the photo, the one he'd jerked off to four times. Your breasts were spilling out of it, the fabric barely containing them, and he made a sound — not a word, just a noise, like all the air had been punched out of him.
"You like this one?" you asked, running a finger along the edge of the fabric, pushing your breast up slightly. "You seemed to. You watched the story it was in about forty times."
"I—" His voice was raw. "I lost count."
"Take off your shirt."
He ripped it off so fast the seams made a sound, and his chest was heaving, skin flushed pink from his collarbones to his stomach, and you could see the tent in his sweatpants, could see the dark spot of precum soaking through the grey fabric. He was leaking. Just from this. Just from you standing in front of him in a bikini top.
"You're already making a mess," you observed, and you reached down and ran a single finger along the length of his cock through his pants, feather-light, and he jerked like he'd been electrocuted. His hips chased your hand the moment you pulled away, thrusting up into empty air, and he let out a whine that was so pitiful, so utterly desperate, that you felt your own arousal pulse, hot and slick, between your legs.
"Please touch me," he begged. "Please, I need—"
"In a minute." You unbuttoned your shorts and shimmied them down your legs, and underneath were the black panties. The ones from the mirror photo. The see-through ones. And he was staring at them like he was having a religious experience, mouth open, breath ragged, and you could see his cock twitch in his pants, could see another pulse of precum darken the fabric.
"Remember these?" You turned around slowly, letting him see the back, the sheer fabric clinging to the curve of your ass, the lace trim riding up just slightly, and you looked over your shoulder at him and bit your lip. "You came so hard to this picture. I heard the voicemail, baby. You sounded so pathetic. So needy. Were you that desperate for me?"
"Yes," he choked out. "Yes, I was—I am—please—"
You turned back around and stepped closer, close enough that if he leaned forward his face would be inches from your body, and you reached behind yourself and unclasped the bikini top. It fell away, and your breasts were bare, nipples hard from the cool air and from the way he was looking at you, like he was starving and you were the first meal he'd seen in a week.
He lunged forward, mouth open, aiming for your breast, and you grabbed his hair and pulled him back.
"Did I say you could touch?"
The sound he made was devastating. A sob, cut off halfway, and his eyes were wet, actually wet, glassy with unshed tears, and his lower lip was trembling, and he looked so wrecked, so utterly desperate, that for a moment you almost caved. Almost. But you wanted to draw this out. You wanted to make it good.
"Tell me what you want," you said.
"I want—I want to taste you." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I want to put my mouth on you. I want—gosh, I want to eat you out so bad, I've been thinking about it all week, thinking about how you'd sound, how you'd feel on my tongue, and I—"
"Then do it."
He didn't need to be told twice.
His hands grabbed your hips and he pulled you forward and pressed his face between your legs, mouth against your pussy through the sheer fabric of your panties, and you felt the heat of his breath, the desperate slide of his tongue against the wet material. He was moaning into you, actual moans, vibrating against your clit, and the fabric was getting wetter, your wetness, his saliva, the barrier between his tongue and you becoming translucent with moisture.
"Take them off," you said, breathless, and he hooked his fingers in the waistband and dragged them down so fast the lace scratched against your thighs, and then his mouth was on you, bare, and—
Fuck.
He was good at this. He'd always been good at this, enthusiastic and sloppy and absolutely relentless, but today, after a week of wanting, a week of desperate late-night phone calls and photos and voicemails, he ate you out like he was dying. His tongue was everywhere, broad strokes through your folds, pointed flicks against your clit, and then he sucked your clit into his mouth and you gasped and your hand flew to his hair and pulled and he whimpered against you, the vibration making your knees buckle.
"Shit, baby—"
He looked up at you from between your thighs, lips swollen and glistening, chin wet, eyes glassy and pleading, and he didn't stop, he kept licking, kept sucking, kept making those small, desperate sounds against your body, and you could feel his hips rutting against the edge of the mattress, grinding against nothing, chasing friction because he was so turned on he couldn't help it.
You pushed him back, and he made a sound of protest, raw and bereft, but you were climbing onto the bed, straddling his face, and then you lowered yourself onto his mouth and he grabbed your thighs and held you there and devoured you.
His tongue was inside you, then on your clit, then inside again, and he was making sounds like he was the one being eaten out, little muffled whimpers and moans, and you were grinding against his face, chasing the pleasure, and you felt it building, that tight coil in your abdomen, and—
"I'm going—fuck, baby, I’m going to come on your face," you told him, and he doubled his efforts, tongue working your clit in fast, tight circles, and you came with a cry, thighs clamping around his head, body arching, and he kept going, kept licking you through it, kept moaning like your orgasm was his own, and when you finally pulled away, shaking, he was gasping for air and his chin was drenched and he was looking up at you with absolute, total devotion.
"Good boy," you murmured, and he shuddered. Actually shuddered, full-body, and you felt his cock jerk where it pressed against your thigh through his sweatpants. "You made me feel so good. You always do."
"Please," he whispered, and a tear rolled down his cheek. Just one, sliding from the corner of his eye, and he didn't seem to notice it. "Please, I need—I need to be inside you, I need—"
"Not yet." You climbed off his face and positioned yourself beside him, and you reached down and palmed his cock through his sweatpants, and he arched off the bed with a strangled cry. The fabric was soaked. Not just damp, soaked, a huge dark patch of precum, and you could feel how hard he was, how thick and hot and desperate, and you squeezed gently and his entire body seized.
"You're so wet," you said, rubbing your palm over the head through the fabric, spreading the moisture, and he was twitching uncontrollably, hips jerking up into your hand. "You've been leaking all day, haven't you? Just thinking about me coming home?"
"All week," he corrected, voice breaking. "All week, I've been—"
"Take this off."
He shoved his sweatpants down, kicked them off, and his cock sprang free, flushed dark, the head an angry red, slick with precum that was dripping down the shaft in a steady stream. He was so hard, veins prominent, twitching in the open air, and you wrapped your hand around the base and his whole body spasmed.
"Ah—fuck, fuck—"
You stroked him once, slow, from base to tip, spreading his precum, and his head fell back against the pillows and his mouth fell open and the sound that came out of him was barely human. You stroked him again, and he was already close, you could tell, his thighs trembling, stomach clenching, and you tightened your grip just slightly and twisted on the upstroke and he screamed.
Not a moan. A scream. Raw and desperate and overwhelmed, and his hips were bucking up into your fist, chasing the sensation, and you could feel him throbbing in your hand, getting close, getting—
You let go.
He sobbed. Actually sobbed, chest heaving, cock bobbing in the air, flushed and leaking and so close to the edge that a single touch would have sent him over, and tears were streaming down his face now, not just one but two wet tracks down his cheeks, and he was looking at you with the most destroyed expression you'd ever seen on another human being.
"Why—" his voice cracked, shattered, "why did you stop—"
"Because I want to do something else first." You shifted, repositioned, and you wrapped your hand around him again and leaned down and took the head of his cock into your mouth.
The sound he made was not a word. It was not a moan. It was something between a gasp and a wail, and his hands flew to your hair, not pushing, just holding, fingers tangling in the strands, and his whole body was trembling like a live wire.
You swirled your tongue around the tip, tasting him, and then you sank down, taking him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, and he was falling apart above you.
"Oh god, oh god, oh—your mouth, your mouth feels so—I'm going to—I'm going to come, I can't—"
You pulled off with a slick pop and squeezed the base of his cock, hard, and he yelled, and the orgasm that had been building was throttled, stopped just short of the peak, and he was crying openly now, tears running freely, lower lip caught between his teeth, and the sounds coming out of him were sobs and whimpers and fragmented syllables that might have been your name.
"Please let me come," he begged, and his voice was so raw, so ruined, that you felt a rush of wetness between your own thighs. "Please, I can't—it hurts, I need to come so bad, please—"
"I know, baby," you murmured, and you stroked his hair back from his forehead, gentle now, tender, and he leaned into your touch like a touch-starved animal. "I know it hurts. You've been so good for me. So patient and all. Let me make you feel better."
You reached between your legs with your free hand, you were soaking, absolutely drenched, your fingers sliding through your folds with no resistance, and you touched yourself while you stroked him, and the dual sensation made you both groan. You rubbed your clit in slow circles while you jerked him off, and you were so turned on from watching him fall apart, from the power of having this beautiful, desperate boy at your mercy, that you were already close to another orgasm.
"You want to know a secret?" you asked, voice low and sultry, and he blinked up at you through tear-blurred eyes. "I touched myself thinking about you too. On the trip. In the hotel room. I'd look at the photos you sent—your voice notes, those sounds you made—and I'd fuck myself with my fingers and pretend it was you."
He twitched violently in your hand, and a fresh wave of precum spilled over your fingers.
"I'd come so hard, baby," you continued, squeezing him, stroking faster, your other hand working your own clit in matching rhythm. "But it wasn't enough. My fingers aren't your cock. My fingers aren't you. I needed you just as bad as you needed me."
"I needed you more," he gasped, and it was so pathetic, so utterly heartfelt, that you felt your orgasm crash into you without warning, your body seizing, cunt clenching around nothing, and you moaned loud and long, and the sound of your pleasure pushed him right to the edge again and this time you didn't stop.
You felt the moment he broke.
His cock pulsed once, twice, and then he was coming, thick ropes of cum spurting over your hand, over his stomach, and he was crying out, sounds, raw and broken and overwhelmed, and his whole body was arching off the bed, and the tears were flowing freely now, mixing with the sweat on his face, and you kept stroking him through it, kept your hand moving, and he kept coming, more than you'd ever seen from him, spurt after spurt, and you realized he was still hard. Still hard and still coming and his body didn't know when to stop because it had been wound so tight for so long that the release was overflowing.
"Stop, stop, it's too much—" he sobbed, and you let go, and he lay there, wrecked, chest heaving, cum splattered across his stomach and your hand, tears on his face, and his cock was still hard, still flushed and twitching, and you knew one orgasm wasn't going to be enough. Not after a week. Not after all that buildup.
"That's one," you said, and you brought your cum-covered hand to your lips and licked a stripe up your palm, tasting him, and his eyes went impossibly wide and his spent cock actually jerked back to full attention. "You've got more in you, don't you?"
He nodded, wordless, still crying, and you thought he'd never looked more beautiful.
You stripped off your panties, the last remaining piece of clothing on your body, and you straddled his waist, and you felt his cum between your bodies, slick and warm against your stomach, and you didn't care. You wanted to be messy. You wanted this to be filthy. You wanted him to remember what it felt like when you finally, finally gave him what he'd been begging for.
"I'm going to ride you now," you told him, and you saw the hope bloom in his eyes, the desperate, grateful hope, and you leaned down and kissed him, properly kissed him, tongue in his mouth, tasting yourself on his lips from when he'd gone down on you, and he kissed back frantically, hands coming up to cup your face, and he was making small sounds into your mouth, little whimpers and sighs, and you could feel his cock pressing against your ass, hot and hard and still leaking.
You reached behind you and positioned him at your entrance, and you sank down, just the tip, just the head, and you both groaned. He was big, you'd forgotten, in a week, just how big, how the stretch of him made your walls flutter and clench, and he was so sensitive from his first orgasm that the mere sensation of your heat around the head of his cock had him whimpering, hands gripping your waist hard enough to bruise.
"More," he gasped. "Please, more—"
You sank down, slow, torturous, and you watched his face as you did, the way his eyes rolled back, the way his jaw dropped, the way his breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. When you bottomed out, when he was fully inside you, you paused, and you felt him throbbing, felt every twitch and pulse, and you clenched around him deliberately and he sobbed.
"Don't—please—if you do that, fuck—I'll—"
"You'll what? Come again?" You clenched harder, and he cried out, hands scrabbling at your hips. "That's the point, baby. I want you to come inside me. I want to feel it. I've been thinking about this all week—your cock inside me, filling me up, making me yours again."
More tears fell, and you realized he wasn't crying from sadness or from pain. He was crying from feeling. From the overwhelming intensity of finally, finally having you, finally being inside you, after a week of his own inadequate hand and your cruel, beautiful photos. He was crying because it felt too good to process. "I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm—"
You started to move. Slow at first, a grinding roll of your hips that pressed his cock against your front wall, against that spot that made your vision blur, and you braced your hands on his chest and rolled your hips and watched him fall apart beneath you. He was gone. Completely gone. His head was thrown back, throat exposed, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed convulsively, and his hands were on your hips, holding on. Holding on like you were the only solid thing in a world that was spinning too fast.
"Faster," he begged. "Please, faster, harder—"
You obeyed. You lifted your hips and slammed back down, and the sound that rang out was so obscene that he yelled, and you did it again, and again, setting a brutal pace, riding him hard, and the angle was perfect, the pressure on your clit from the base of his dick, the stretch of him inside you, and you were already close again, already feeling that coil tightening.
"Touch me," you commanded, and his hands flew to your breasts, squeezing, thumbs rolling over your nipples, and you moaned and threw your head back and bounced on his cock harder, and he was meeting your thrusts now, hips snapping up to meet you, and the wet slap of your bodies was the filthiest, most beautiful sound in the world.
"You feel so good," he gasped, voice raw and destroyed. "You feel so fucking good, I can't—I'm not going to last—"
"Then don't." You leaned down and bit his earlobe, then whispered against the shell of his ear: "Come inside me. Fill me up. I want to feel it dripping out of me for the rest of the night."
He shattered. His back arched off the bed, his fingers dug bruises into your hips, and he came with a sound that was closer to a scream than a moan, long, drawn-out, broken in the middle by a sob, and you felt it, felt the pulse of his cock inside you, felt the heat of his cum flooding you, and it pushed you over the edge too, your orgasm ripping through you, cunt clenching and fluttering around him, milking every last drop, and you collapsed against his chest and both of you were shaking, trembling, crying — the hell, when had you started crying?
You didn't know, but your bodies were tangled together and it was too much, everything was too much, in the best possible way.
You lay there for a long moment, catching your breath, his cock softening inside you, and you felt the trickle of his cum leaking out around the seal of your bodies, and he was still sniffling, still trembling, and you pressed kisses to his jaw, his cheek, his tear-streaked face, and he turned into your touch like a flower toward the sun.
But this was the thing about Heeseung, you shifted your hips slightly, and you felt it. Still half-hard. Twitching. Recovering. And you knew, with a rush of heat between your legs, that he wasn't done.
Neither were you.
"Baby," you murmured against his ear, and you felt him shiver. "You still want more?"
"I always want more," he whispered, and his voice was wrecked, hoarse from crying and moaning, and the honesty in it made your cunt clench around his half-hard cock and he hissed. "I always want you. It’ll never be enough."
"You’re too greedy, no? How can someone be that greedy," you teased, and you bit your lip and looked down at him through your lashes, and his eyes darkened.
"Only for you."
You lifted your hips and let him slip out. You saw the mess, his cum and yours, smeared across his stomach and yours, and you reached down and ran your fingers through it, and you brought them to his lips, and he opened his mouth without hesitation, sucking your fingers clean, tongue swirling around the digits, and his cock, which had been softening, jerked back to full hardness.
"Dirty boy," you murmured, and he flushed darker, and you saw the conflict on his face, shame and arousal warring behind his eyes, and arousal won, as it always did with him. "You like being dirty for me, don't you?"
"I like being anything for you," he said, and it was the most sincere thing anyone had ever said to you.
You turned around. You positioned yourself on your hands and knees, and you looked over your shoulder at him, and you stuck your tongue out, just a little, just a tease, the way you knew drove him insane, and you wiggled your hips and said: "Then come prove it."
He was behind you in a second. His hands gripped your ass, spreading you open, and you felt his gaze on you, on your pussy, still dripping with his cum, still puffy and flushed from your orgasms, and he groaned, low and hungry, and you felt his cock press against your entrance.
"Wait," you said, and he froze instantly, ever obedient, ever desperate to please. "I want you to eat me out first. Again. I want your tongue inside me again. Then you can fuck me."
He didn't hesitate. His face was between your legs again, tongue sliding through your folds, tasting both of you and he moaned against you like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted. His tongue pushed inside you, fucking you with it, and you could feel his cum dripping onto his tongue, and he was swallowing it, swallowing everything, and the obscenity of it had you pushing back against his face, grinding, chasing more.
"Such a good boy," you gasped, and he whimpered into you, and you felt fresh tears, his tears this time, wetting the inside of your thighs as they fell, and the vulnerability of it, the raw submission, had you hurtling toward another orgasm. "My good boy. Only mine. Nobody else gets to see you like this, nobody else gets to have you—"
"Only you," he confirmed against your body, the words muffled by your pussy, vibrating against your clit. "Only you, only you, only—"
You came on his tongue, again, thighs shaking, and he held you up and licked you through it and when you finally pulled away you were boneless and trembling and he was looking at you with those red-rimmed, tear-stained, absolutely wrecked eyes, cock jutting out from his body, hard as steel, and you felt a rush of tenderness so fierce it almost hurt.
"Come here," you said softly, and you turned onto your back and opened your arms, and he crawled up your body and kissed you, and you tasted yourself and him on his tongue, and you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him into you in one fluid motion.
He sank to the hilt and you both gasped, and this time it was slower, not the frantic, desperate pace of before, but something deeper. He was moving in long, grinding strokes, hitting every sensitive spot inside you, and his forehead was pressed against yours, and you could see his eyes up close, overflowing with feeling, and you cupped his face and brushed the tears away with your thumbs and he turned his head to kiss your palm.
"I love you," he whispered, and his voice broke on love, broke open like he couldn't contain it, and you pulled his hair and he moaned and you bit your lip and he watched your mouth like it was the center of the universe.
"I love you more," you said, and then you tightened your legs around his waist and rolled your hips and he made a sound that was half sob, half moan, and you swallowed it with a kiss.
He fucked you slower but deeper, each thrust deliberate, purposeful, hitting that spot that made your breath catch, and you could feel another orgasm building, your fourth, his third, and this one felt different, bigger, like something immense was gathering at the base of your spine, and you broke the kiss and gasped against his mouth.
"I'm close," you warned, and he nodded, and his pace increased, hips snapping faster, and he was hitting so deep, so perfect, and you were clenching around him, and he was groaning with every thrust, and—
"I'm—I can't—" He was crying again, silent tears streaming, and his face was scrunched up in an expression that was almost pain, almost pleasure, something in between that was too intense to name. "I'm going to—again—"
"Do it," you commanded. "Come with me. Now."
You clenched around him and his mouth fell open in a silent scream, and you felt him pulse inside you, felt the heat of his cum, and that triggered your own orgasm, this one different, deeper, your whole body shaking, cunt clenching rhythmically around him, and you were both crying, both gasping, both clinging to each other like you were the only two people in the world, and he was still thrusting through it, shallow and twitching, and you could feel the overstimulation making him shake, making his breath come in hitches and hiccups, and he collapsed against you, full body weight pressing you into the mattress, and you held him and he sobbed against your neck.
"I'm sorry," he wept, and you could feel his tears hot against your skin. "I can't stop crying, I'm sorry—"
"Don't apologize," you said, and your own voice was thick, wavering. "Don't you dare apologize. That was—you were perfect. You're always perfect."
He lifted his head and looked at you, face blotchy and wet and so, so beautiful, and you kissed his eyelids, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and he smiled, and you felt your heart crack open in your chest.
"You're mine," you told him, and it wasn't a question.
"Yours," he agreed, and he buried his face in your neck and breathed you in, and you felt his cock twitch one last time inside you, and you both laughed, the sound of it echoing off the walls of your shared apartment, your home, the place where you belonged, together, tangled up in each other and the mess you'd made.
Later, much later, after showers and water bottles and the kind of gentle, exploratory touching that was less about arousal and more about reassurance, you lay tangled in bed together, your head on his chest, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your shoulder.
"I have a confession," he said quietly.
"More confessions? After all that?"
"I screenshot every photo you sent. Even the ones from your public story. I have a whole album."
You laughed, bright and surprised. "I know. I can see your screenshots."
He groaned, covering his face with his free hand. "Fuck, that's so embarrassing."
"That's so hot," you corrected, and you bit his chest playfully, and he squirmed. "I love that you were that desperate for me. I love that I had you on a chokehold."
"You always have me on a chokehold," he muttered, and there was no heat in it, just fact. Just the simple, unvarnished truth. "You could wear a garbage bag and I'd still be hard for you in three seconds."
"Ew, that's so… disgusting and romantic and I'm going to think about it every time I miss you."
"Don't go anywhere for a while," he said, and his voice was small, and when you looked up at him his eyes were earnest and vulnerable and still slightly red from crying. "Please."
You reached up and stroked his hair, and he melted into the touch, and you pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw.
"I'm not going anywhere," you promised. "I just got back to you."
He pulled you closer, tighter, like he could fold you into himself and keep you there permanently, and you let him. You let him cling and you clung back, because the truth, the truth that neither of you said out loud but both of you knew, was that the desperation went both ways. You'd sent those photos on purpose, sure, but not just to tease. You'd sent them because you needed him to want you. You needed to feel wanted from five hundred miles away. You needed proof that the ache was mutual.
And it was. God, it was.
"I'm already hard again," he mumbled against your hair, and you felt the evidence pressing against your thigh, and you laughed again, incredulous, fond, so deeply in love it made your chest hurt.
"What a weirdo," you accused.
"Only for you," he said, and it was the second time he'd said it tonight, and you believed it completely.
You rolled on top of him and pinned his wrists to the pillow and leaned down and whispered against his lips: "Then let's go again."
And his eyes lit up, bright, eager, desperate, yours, and he said:
✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !
Jake usually moves through the house like a ghost, his "virgin nerd" persona defined by hunched shoulders and a nervous stutter that keeps the boundary between step-siblings firmly in place. However, behind closed doors, that awkwardness sharpens into a terrifyingly precise fixation, proving that his role as f-reader quiet step-brother was merely a mask for a deeply calculated hunger. When the tension finally snaps, the transformation is jarring; his stutter vanishes, replaced by a low, steady command and a raw, dominant intensity born from years of observing f-reader from the periphery of the family dynamic. This isn't about the hesitation of a novice, but a heavy-handed control where his intelligence is used to dismantle f-reader composure, turning years of repressed proximity into a rough, unapologetic claim.
────#GOOD BOY────
⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!jake 𝓍 f!reader 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : college AU, smut (MDNI), porn with plot
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : they are both 20, fake nerd!jake, voyeurism, stalking, obsessive behaviour, jealousy, manhandling, masturbating, edging, filthy talk, oral sex (m. receiving), grinding, degradation, use of nicknames : baby, angel, good girl, face fucking
𝐰𝐜 : 8.5k
part 2
𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ──── (specific order)
♫ An Eater - Matt Martians
♫ Freak - Doja Cat
♫ Need To Know - Doja Cat
♫ Love Potion - BJ Lips ft. princess paparazzi
♫ Killshot (Slowed + Reverb) - Magdalena Bay
♫ What You Need - The Weeknd
♫ Don't Run - PARTYNEXTDOOR
♫ Haunted - Beyoncé
♫ All Mine - PLAZA
📎- this was so fun to work on, i think it's one of my fav request so far :)) it has been sitting in my drafts for so long omg. I will probably make a PART 2 of you guys want it and since I paused my Jay ff (I’m procrastinating and might drop it guys). Enjoyyy :)
You wake up when the floorboards creak in the hallway. You wait in bed for five minutes, listening to the silence of the house, before you pull on a grey sweatshirt and walk downstairs.
In the kitchen, Jake is already sitting at the island, hunched over his laptop. His oversized black hoodie bunches around his neck, and his shoulders are rounded forward. When you step onto the tile, he flinches and quickly pushes his glasses up his nose.
"Oh. Hi," he says. His voice is quiet as he stumbles over the greeting. "Good morning."
"Morning," you say, walking to the counter. "Is there coffee?"
"Yeah. I made a pot." He points to the machine before he tucks his hands back into his sleeves. "It's still hot."
You pour yourself a mug. The ceramic is warm against your palms. You lean against the counter and look at him. "You have that midterm today?"
"Yeah, quantum maths. It's a pain in the ass." He types three keys and stops. "I've been awake since 5. My head hurts from looking at the formulas."
"Are you ready for it?"
"I think so. If I don't mess up the proofs." He looks up at you. His eyes blink rapidly behind his thick lenses and a faint red color spreads across his cheeks. "What about you? You have that group project presentation today, right? With the guy from your marketing class."
"Yeah, Damian. He hasn't sent me his half of the slides yet."
Jake's hands freeze on the keyboard. "He's a fucking idiot."
The sudden change in his tone makes you pause. His voice is flat and direct, without his usual wobble. When you look at him, he quickly slumps further into his hoodie, his eyes darting back to the screen.
"I mean," he mumbles, his voice rising back to its nervous pitch. "He just...he seems lazy. I see him sitting by the library sometimes, just talking on his phone."
"He is lazy," you say, taking a sip of the coffee. "I'll probably have to finish the presentation myself before noon."
Jake watches you drink. His head is turned toward you, his eyes fixed on your mouth, then your throat as you swallow. His face is completely still, devoid of the nervous twitching he usually does.
"You shouldn't have to do his work," Jake says.
You set your mug down on the granite. The sound makes him blink, and he immediately looks down at his keyboard again, his shoulders tensing.
"It's fine," you say. "I just want to get it over with."
"I could...I could look at your slides," he says, stammering slightly on the first word. "If you want. I can check the layout or make sure the alignment is correct."
"It's marketing, Jake. We just used a template."
"Right. Yeah. Of course." He nods quickly, his head bobbing four or five times. "Just...if you needed help."
He presses a key to lock his laptop before sliding it into his backpack. When he stands up, his actual height is obvious, he is clearly taller than you, but he immediately curves his spine, lowering his head as he zips the bag.
"I'm going to go to campus early," he says, his eyes focused on the floor near your feet. "I need to study more."
"Okay. Good luck on the test."
"Thanks." He walks past you, leaving a wide space between your bodies as he heads for the front door. "See you later."
The front door clicks shut and the kitchen is quiet again.
──────
You pull into the gravel driveway at the exact same time Jake’s car stops in the space next to yours. You both get out of your cars. Jake immediately ducks his head, grabbing his heavy backpack from the passenger seat and hoisting it over one slouched shoulder.
"Hey," he says, his voice quiet. He stands by his door, waiting for you to walk first.
"Hey," you say, walking toward the stone steps of the mansion. "How was the math midterm?"
"It was...hard. I think I got a B. Maybe a B-minus." He follows a few paces behind you, his sneakers squeaking on the stone.
Inside, the house is silent. Your mother is in Chicago for a week-long business conference, leaving just you, Jake, and his father.
Jake’s dad is already sitting at the long mahogany dining table when you walk into the dining room. A roasted chicken and some sides are laid out on silver platters.
"There they are," he says, looking up from his phone. "Sit down. How was it today?"
You both sit. Jake takes the chair directly across from you. He immediately pulls his plate close, keeping his eyes on his food as he serves himself.
"It was fine," you say. "Just a bit busy."
"That’s good. So, we need to talk about summer," his dad says while carving the chicken. "I’m booking a villa in Ibiza for July. You two are coming."
You set your fork down. "Oh, I don't think I can go. I wanted to take summer classes. I need to catch up on my biology credits."
Jake’s dad sighs, waving his hand. "You work too hard. Take a break."
You look at Jake. He is chewing slowly. He swallows and looks up, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. He clears his throat twice.
"You, um...you can take the classes online," Jake says. His voice is small and hesitant. "The villa has high-speed internet. I looked at your syllabus on the counter yesterday. It's mostly reading and quizzes. I can...I can help you study if you get stuck. It wouldn't be a big deal."
He looks at you through his eyelashes, his expression nervous as if he is waiting for you to shut him down.
"See?" His dad says. "Jake will help you. It's settled."
Under the table, your knee accidentally bumps into Jake's. He doesn't pull his leg away immediately. He holds the contact for three seconds, his leg completely still against yours before he slowly flinches back and looks down at his plate.
"Okay," you say, looking at him. "I'll go."
After dinner, his dad goes to his study to make business calls. You and Jake sit in the main living room. A reality TV show plays on the flat-screen, yet neither of you is really watching it. Jake sits on the far end of the leather sofa, his knees pulled together and his laptop open on his thighs.
The air conditioning is on but the room feels stuffy. You pull at the collar of your t-shirt.
"It's fucking hot in here," you say.
"The compressor downstairs is old," Jake says, his fingers hovering over his keyboard. "Dad refuses to replace it."
"Let's go swim," you say while standing up. "The pool is clean. It'll feel better than sitting in here."
Jake looks up from his screen. He blinks. "Now?"
"Yeah, now. Come on, don't be boring."
He hesitates, his eyes darting to the door and back to his laptop. "Okay. I'll go change."
Ten minutes later, you meet by the outdoor pool. The blue lights under the water are on, casting bright reflections across the concrete patio. You are wearing a simple black bikini. Jake comes out in dark swim trunks and a white t-shirt.
"You're wearing a shirt?" you ask, dipping your legs into the water.
Jake sits on the edge, a foot away from you, letting his feet dangle in the pool. He looks at the water, keeping his eyes away from your body. "I don't want to get sunburned."
"It's 9 o'clock at night, Jake. There is no sun."
"It's a habit," he mumbles, his shoulders curving inward.
You splash a bit of water at his feet.
"Seriously, though," you say, leaning back on your hands. "Do you ever do anything fun? Do you even like girls?"
Jake freezes. His feet stop moving in the water. "What?"
"I've lived here for two years, and you've never brought a girl home. Not even a friend who is a girl."
He keeps his eyes on the water. His voice is very quiet. "I don't have time for that. I'm focusing on my degree."
"Right. Sure."
There’s a silence settling in between you two. So you decide to eventually break it.
"I haven’t heard anything from Jay. What about him?" you ask, watching his profile. "He came over last week to drop off your textbooks. You should invite him over more often."
The nervous and slouched posture Jake has maintained all night vanishes in an instant. His spine straightens. He turns his head to look at you, and the movement is fast, completely lacking his usual hesitation. His jaw is clenched so hard a muscle twitches in his cheek.
"Jay is a fucking jerk," Jake says.
His voice isn't high or shaky anymore. It is dry and perfectly steady. You stare at him, surprised by the sudden bite in his tone. "He was nice to me though."
"He's a dumbass who fails half his classes and spends his weekends getting black-out drunk just because he has the money for it," Jake says, his eyes locking onto yours. "He isn't coming back to this house."
"Why are you saying things like that?" you ask, your heart beating a little faster against your ribs. "He's your friend."
Jake stares at you for another second. The expression on his face is cold, without any of his usual softness. He looks down at your collarbone and slowly back up to your eyes. He clears his throat and slumps his shoulders back down, his head dropping as he rubs the back of his neck. The nervous stutter returns but it sounds slightly forced.
"I just...I don't want him around anymore," Jake stammers, his voice rising back to its soft and shaky register. "He's...he's being annoying. He makes a mess. And he's loud."
He slides into the pool, letting the water come up to his chest, hiding his frame. But even underwater, his eyes stay on you, tracking your every move.
──────
The house was unnervingly quiet. One week before summer break, and the entire afternoon stretched before Jake, empty and ripe with opportunity. Not for studying nor packing, it’s actually for you.
His heart hammered against his ribs as he pushed open the door to your bedroom. The air was filled with the scent of your perfume and he loved it. He breathed it in deeply, his eyes scanning the room. Your bed was perfectly made. However it was the walk-in closet that called to him.
He stepped inside, the soft carpet muffling his footsteps. Your dressing room was a sanctuary of all his desires. Dresses hung on one side, blouses on the other. But his gaze fell to the dresser, its top neatly arranged with perfumes and jewelry. He pulled open the top drawer. There they were. Rows and rows of your panties. Lace, silk, cotton. Thongs, briefs, boyshorts.
His hands trembled as he reached in, his fingers brushing against the delicate material. He pulled out a black lace pair. He brought them to his face, inhaling your scent that made his cock twitch in his pants. He was sick, he knew he was. A depraved and obsessed freak, but he just couldn't stop. He snapped picture after picture with his phone, capturing the intimate details of your underwear drawer for his own personal collection.
Next, he moved to your desk, your laptop left open and sleeping. He shook the mouse, and the screen lit up. He was in. Your social media was already pulled up. He clicked on Instagram, his eyes scanning your feed. Pictures of you with your friends, selfies from class, a few with your mom and his dad. Then something immediately catched his eyes. A private message thread with Jay. ‘That motherfucker’ he thought.
He clicked on it, his stomach clenching. The conversation was ambiguous, full of inside jokes. Jay had sent a picture of himself, at the gym, probably to show you where he was and what he was doing. You'd like the picture and replied that he looked pretty good. After that, a message from Jay that made Jake's blood boil cold : "Can't wait for summer break. Maybe we can see each other."
A low growl rumbled in Jake's chest. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he muttered to the empty room. "Fucking asshole. You think you can have her just like that? You’re fucking dead." He slammed the laptop shut, the sound echoing in the quiet room. He had to see you. He had to watch you.
He retrieved the tiny camera he'd bought online, his hands shaking with a mixture of adrenaline and rage. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on the bookshelf across from your bed. Perfect. He climbed onto a chair, his fingers working quickly as he positioned the camera between two dusty hardcovers, the lens pointed directly at your bed. It was so small and almost invisible. He connected it to his phone, the live feed popping up instantly. He adjusted the angle, a sick sense of satisfaction settling in his gut. Now he could see you whenever he wanted, he could have you, in his own twisted way.
Hours later, he heard the front door open. You were home. He scrambled to his room, his heart pounding and locked the door. He grabbed his phone, opening the camera app, his eyes glued to the screen. He watched as you entered your bedroom, dropping your bag on the floor with a sigh. You looked tired, your hair slightly messy from a long day of classes. You stretched, your arms reaching for the ceiling, your shirt riding up to expose a sliver of skin on your stomach. Jake's breath hitched.
You turned your back to the camera, unbuttoning your jeans and shimmying out of them. His eyes were glued to the screen, his hand already palming his hardening cock through his pants. You stood there in your t-shirt and a simple pair of cotton panties, the ones he'd seen in your drawer that morning. You reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, revealing a plain white bra. You unhooked it, letting it fall to the floor, and Jake's cock sprang to life, straining against the fabric of his pajamas.
He freed himself, his hand wrapping around his thick shaft, his eyes still locked on the screen. You were just in your panties now, your body even more perfect than he'd imagined. He watched as you walked to your dresser, pulling out a silk nightgown, the fabric shimmering in the soft light of your room.
He started to stroke himself, his movements slow and sharp, his eyes never leaving the screen. He imagined it was his hands on your skin, his lips tracing the line of your collarbone. He imagined you looking up at him, with your beautiful eyes, whispering his name.
"Fuck, Y/N." he grunted, his strokes becoming faster, more urgent. He was so close. He watched as you slipped the nightgown over your head, the silk clinging to your body like a second skin. You climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin, and switched off the lamp.
The screen went dark but it was too late. With a final groan, Jake came, his release spurting onto his stomach and chest. He lay there, panting, his phone still clutched in his hand. He was sick, twisted, obsessed. As he stared at the dark screen, a satisfied smile spread across his face. He had you now. He had a piece of you, a secret part of you, all to himself. And he would never, ever let you go.
──────
Finally, summer break. The villa in Ibiza is built from white stone that holds the heat long after the sun goes down. You are sitting at the glass table on the terrace, squinting at your laptop screen while the Mediterranean wind tosses the pages of your textbook.
The biology quiz on the screen is full of red marks. You click an answer, get it wrong, and hiss a curse under your breath.
"That’s the third time you’ve picked the same protein synthesis pathway," Jake says. He’s sitting on the lounger behind you, hunched over a thick paperback. He’s clearly been tracking your failure.
"I know what I'm doing, Jake," you snap, clicking through to the next question.
"You clearly don't. You're forcing it because you're frustrated." He sighs, his voice thin and shaky. "If you just...if you looked at the diagram on page 214, it would—"
"I don't need the diagram, I need this to be over so I can go outside." You click another random answer. Wrong again. "Fuck this."
The chair behind you scrapes harshly against the stone. Suddenly, Jake is standing right over you. He grabs the back of your chair and spins it around so you’re forced to look at him.
"Stop clicking," he says.
The stutter is gone. His voice is flat. He leans down, placing one hand on the table and the other on the arm of your chair, effectively pinning you in place. His eyes are cold and intensely focused, stripped of their usual nervous blinking.
"You are wasting your time," he says, his gaze boring into yours. "Open the book. Read the section I told you to read. Do not click another button until you can explain the process back to me. Okay?"
You stare at him, your mouth slightly open. The quiet side of him is nowhere to be found; in his place is someone who looks like he could dismantle your entire argument with a single sentence.
"I—" you start but the words catch.
Jake blinks. The sharp lines of his face suddenly go soft. He recoils as if he’s been burned, his shoulders hitting his ears as he slumps back into his usual posture. He looks at his shoes, his fingers twitching at his sides.
"I...I mean," he stammers, his voice jumping back up higher. "It would just...it would save you time. S-sorry. I didn't mean to be...whatever that was."
He won't look at you now and he edges back toward his lounger. "I’m going to go down to the beach in 10 minutes. If you want to come. But, uh...finish the work first. I'll wait at the cove."
It takes you 40 minutes to finish. By the time you trek down the private stone path to the beach, the sun is beginning to dip, turning the sand into a pale gold. You spot him standing near the water's edge. He’s taken his shirt off, and the sight stops you in your tracks. Without the oversized hoodies to hide in, his frame is lean and surprisingly muscular, his skin tanned from the few days you've been here. He’s standing tall, looking out at the horizon, his posture relaxed and confident.
"Took you long enough," he calls out. He doesn't turn around but he knows it's you.
"The quiz was a bitch," you say, walking up to him. Up close, he looks different. His hair is pushed back by the wind and he isn't wearing his glasses.
He turns to look at you and grins. "Maybe you’re just a slow learner."
"Excuse me?" you laugh, shoving his shoulder.
"I'm just saying. I finished my credits two years ago." He dodges your next shove with a quick movement.
"You seem...different today," you say, eyeing him. "Did the salt air fix your brain?"
Jake shrugs, kicking a bit of foam toward you. "Maybe. Or maybe there’s just nobody here to perform for." He steps closer, his shadow falling over you. "Is it a problem?"
"No," you murmur. "It’s just...weird."
"Life is weird, you know." he says. Without warning, he reaches down and hooks his arms under your knees and around your back.
"Jake ! Put me down !" You shriek, grabbing his shoulders for balance. His skin is hot and slightly grit with salt.
"You need to cool off," he says. He’s not struggling with your weight at all. He walks into the surf, the water splashing against his thighs.
"Jake, I swear to God—"
He drops you. You hit the water with a splash, coming up gasping and shivering. You immediately lunged for him, grabbing his waist to pull him down with you. He loses his footing, and you both go under, treading water in the shallow break. You come up laughing, wiping hair from your face. Jake is right in front of you, his hands resting on your waist to steady you against a coming wave. The playfulness vanishes as the water settles between you.
The wave pushes you forward, flush against his chest. His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer instead of letting you drift back. You look up, expecting to see his nervousness on his face, his eyes are fixed on your lips.
He leans in, agonizingly slow, giving you every second to move away. But you just feel like you don't want to.
When his lips touch yours, it’s not an accident of the waves. It lasts only a second where the world disappears, before he pulls back just an inch. His breath is jagged.
"S-sorry," he whispers, the stutter returning like a ghost. "The wave...pushed us."
He lets go of your waist and turns toward the shore, his shoulders already starting to hunch as he retreats into the surf.
The walk back up to the villa was silent.
Inside the villa, the air was cooler than a few hours ago. Jake disappeared into his suite immediately, leaving you standing in the foyer with damp hair and a racing pulse. You waited, leaning against the wall, until you heard the shower stop. When he finally stepped out into the hallway, he was wearing a fresh white t-shirt and grey joggers, his hair still dark and dripping.
"Jake," you said, your voice sounding thin in the high-ceilinged hall.
He stopped, his hand tightening on the towel around his neck.
"About the beach," you started, crossing your arms. "The kiss. It was...a mistake. The waves, everything…we should just forget it."
Jake was quiet for a long beat. He finally looked at you, his eyes unreadable behind the droplets of water clinging to his lashes. "It’s okay," he said. His voice was dull, almost sounding empty. "I already forgot."
He brushed past you, the scent of his soap lingering in the air, and disappeared into the kitchen. You retreated to your room and threw yourself onto the bed. You stared at the ceiling, trying to focus on your biology notes, but your mind kept looping back to the feeling of his hands on your waist. You tried to convince yourself that the spark was just a fluke, a side effect of the sun, yet the memory of his gaze in the water felt like a bruise that wouldn't stop aching.
Restless, you eventually left your room to wander in the villa. You ended up in a wing you hadn't explored yet. You pushed open a heavy oak door and found yourself in a studio bathed in the blue light of the moon. The room was filled with art pieces. Large canvases leaned against the walls, and stone statues, half-finished figures emerging from marble that stood on pedestals like in a museum. This was Jake’s mother’s space. You knew she had been an artist, but the sheer raw emotion in the room was overwhelming.
Jake stood perfectly still. He looked like one of the sculptures himself, a silhouette carved out of the darkness. You stopped a few feet away from him, your eyes wandering over the canvas near his shoulder.
"She stayed in here for days at a time," Jake said. His voice echoing through the room. "Dad hated it. He thought it was a waste of energy to create things that didn't have a profit margin."
"It’s not a waste," you said, stepping closer to a marble bust. You reached out, running your thumb over the cold and polished cheek of the figure. "It’s honest. You can feel how much she cared about this."
Jake turned his body toward you. He leaned his lower back against a heavy wooden workbench, his long legs stretching out across the floor. He wasn't hiding in his hoodie tonight, he was wearing a simple t-shirt that showed the sharp lines of his shoulders.
"Honesty is dangerous," he said. "People spend their whole lives building walls so they don't have to be honest. Then they come in here and realize they’re transparent."
"Is that why you’re in here?" you asked, looking at him. "To feel transparent?"
He watched you, his gaze moving from your eyes down to the hand you still had resting on the statue and back up again. The air in the room felt like it was thickening, becoming harder to breathe. He looked like he was taking you apart, piece by piece, analyzing the way the moonlight hit your skin.
"I’m in here because it’s the only room in this house where I don't have to pretend," he said. The honesty in his voice was a physical weight. He took a step toward you, closing the distance until you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. The height difference you usually ignored felt overwhelming now.
"You look pretty," he said. "Especially in this light. With your hair like that."
Your throat went dry. You expected him to look away, to blush and stammer a retraction, to go back to being the boy who couldn't look you in the eye at breakfast. But he didn't. He kept his eyes locked on yours, his expression unreadable and heavy.
"Jake," you breathed, the name more of a question than anything else.
"Oh please," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, sounding like velvet. "Don't look at me like you're surprised. You've been watching me just as much as I've been watching you."
He reached out, his hand hovering near your face for a second before he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers were warm, and they lingered there, his thumb ghosting over the shell of your ear with a slow pressure.
He let his hand drop yet he didn't move back. He stood there, looking satisfied with just being close to his prey, close to you. "Go to bed," he said, the command soft but absolute. "Before I stop being nice about it." You froze in an instant to his tone. He slightly turns before leaving. His voice suddenly softens. "If you’re searching for me, I’ll be at the pool. Goodnight."
──────
You shut the door to your suite and leaned your back against the wood, your lungs struggling to find a steady rhythm. The heat from his thumb against your ear felt like it had been branded into your skin. You walked to the floor-to-ceiling glass doors that led to your private balcony, needing the cold air to snap you out of the haze.
The moon illuminated the entire grounds, turning the pool into a glowing sapphire rectangle against the dark stone of the terrace.
A ripple broke the surface. He was there.
You stayed in the shadows of your room, watching. He moved through the water with a fluid, powerful stroke that was completely the opposite of the clumsy and apologetic boy who tripped over his own feet in the kitchen. He reached the edge of the pool and hauled himself out in one smooth motion.
Water cascaded down his back, defining the muscles of his shoulders and the lean taper of his waist. He stood there for a moment, dripping, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths.He looked nothing like what you were thinking he was during those two years. He looked athletic, confident, and entirely too comfortable in his own skin.
You watched the way he ran a hand through his wet hair, pushing it back from his forehead. You found yourself wondering if he had ever been with anyone. The stutter, the hunched posture, and his awkwardness, it all felt like a clever lie now. If he could fake his entire personality, what else was he hiding? Could someone who looked like that, who moved like that, really be as inexperienced as he claimed to be?
He reached for a towel on a nearby chair, rubbing it over his face. Then, as if he could feel the weight of your stare from the second floor, his head snapped up. He didn't look startled. Not at all. He looked directly at the spot where you were standing in the darkness.
The distance was too great to see his eyes clearly, but the shift in his expression was unmistakable. A slow, knowing smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth ; a look of pure arrogant satisfaction. It was a silent acknowledgement that he knew exactly what you were doing. He knew you were watching, and he knew you liked what you saw.
Without a word, he slung the towel over his shoulder and walked toward the sliding doors of the villa, disappearing inside and leaving you alone with the sound of your own beating heart.
──────
The next morning, you sat at the breakfast table, picking at a plate of fruit while Jake’s dad scrolled through his emails at the head of the table.
Jake was sitting across from you, the nerd act back in full effect. He was slouched, his glasses slightly crooked, staring intensely at a bowl of cereal. But under the table, his foot found yours. He hooked his ankle around yours and began to slowly slide his foot up your calf. You stiffened, your fork hovering in mid-air. You looked at him, but he was mid-stutter, answering a question from his dad about the stock market.
"I-I think the tech sector is just...it's volatile right now, Dad," Jake mumbled, his face a mask of awkward concentration.
Beneath the tablecloth, his foot pressed harder, his toes tracing the sensitive skin behind your knee. You shifted in your seat, your face heating up. You tried to pull away, but he followed, his movements precise and unrelenting. He was watching you out of the corner of his eye, a tiny, almost imperceptible twitch of his lips the only sign he was enjoying your frustration.
"Are you kay?" His dad asked, looking up. "You're barely eating."
"I'm fine," you said, your voice a bit too sharp. "I’m just not hungry."
Jake finally pulled his foot away, sitting up straight. "Actually, Dad, I'm g-going out today. Some guys from the engineering department are in Ibiza for the week. They invited me to a beach club."
His dad looked surprised. "Good for you, Jake. You need to get out more. Why don't you take her with you ?"
Jake turned to you, his eyes wide and blinking. "Oh, yeah. Do you...do you want to come? It might be b-boring, but..."
"Will Jay be there?" you asked, leaning back. "He mentioned to me that he was coming to Ibiza."
The change was instantaneous. Jake’s expression flattened. His shyness didn't just fade, it evaporated into a cold and hard wall. He stood up, grabbing his phone.
"Nevermind," he said, his voice dropping into that low, steady register. "You're not coming."
He walked out of the dining room without looking back.
By 10:00 PM, the villa felt like a tomb. Jake’s dad had gone to bed early, and Jake hadn't returned. You tried to watch a movie, but the silence of the house was grating. On a whim, you grabbed your purse and headed out. You needed noise.
You took a taxi and got toward the town, the neon lights of the coast beginning to blur. You got out of the car and dialed Jake’s number. He picked up on the third ring. The background noise was a low thumping bass.
"Where are you?" you asked. "I'm bored out of my mind."
"I'm at a place called The Vault," he said with no stutter, the noise of a party in the background. "Come if you want. I'll put your name at the door."
He hung up.
When you pulled up to The Vault, you noticed the blacked-out windows and the massive security guards, but you didn't think much of it, everything in Ibiza was over-the-top. You walked past the velvet rope and into the red-lit interior.
As soon as you entered you saw the stage. It was a platform where a woman was slowly spinning around a chrome pole. You froze. It was a strip club. A high-end and discreet one, but a strip club nonetheless.
You scanned the room, your heart hammering. In the far corner, a raised VIP section was cordoned off. You saw Jay first, laughing with a drink in his hand, a girl in a minimal outfit leaning against his shoulder. A few seconds after you saw Jake.
He was leaning back in a deep leather booth, a glass of liquor in his hand. He looked like he owned the entire building. His black button-down was open at the collar, and he looked relaxed, dangerous, and entirely in control. He caught your eye across the smoky room. He didn't look shocked to see you, he smiled and signaled for the guard to let you up.
"Damn, Y/N? Is that really you ?" Jay shouted over the music as you reached the booth. "Jake said you were too much of a ‘good girl’ for this place."
Jake didn't say a word as he shifted over, patting the leather seat right next to him. "Sit down." You sat, your thigh pressed against his. The heat from his body was immediate. The tension from the morning hadn't vanished, it had condensed into something much sharper.
"You didn't tell me what kind of club this was," you hissed into his ear.
Jake leaned in close, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "I told you exactly where I was. You're the one who decided to show up."
He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes fixed on the stage where a dancer was performing. He didn't look away but his hand moved, his fingers splaying across your knee.
"Since you're here," he murmured, his voice voice through the loud music, "you might as well watch. It’s educational, isn't it?"
Jay was busy talking to someone else, leaving you trapped in Jake's orbit. His hand started to move, his thumb tracing slow and rhythmic circles on the fabric of your skirt. Every time the bass dropped, his grip tightened just a fraction.
"You're different here," you say, looking at his profile.
He turned his head slowly, his face inches from yours. The red light of the club made his eyes look almost black.
"I'm the same as I always was," he said. "Maybe you weren’t just paying attention to that."
He leaned back, his arm draping over the back of the booth behind your head, effectively caging you in. He looked over at Jay, then back to you, his eyes narrowing.
"Do you still think he's handsome?" Jake asked, his voice low. "Or do I have your full attention now?"
──────
The night air was a welcome shock after the suffocating heat of the club. It clung to your skin, cool and sharp, doing little to sober you up but clearing your head just enough. The world tilted pleasantly as you walked, Jake's hand a firm, grounding pressure on your elbow, steering you through the loose crowd of people lingering on the sidewalk.
"I had no idea you were that much fun," you said, the words bubbling up, loose and unrestrained. You leaned your head against his shoulder for a moment as he unlocked the car door. "Like, genuinely fun. That’s crazy."
He let out a short, amused breath as he helped you into the passenger seat. "Gee, thanks. I'll cherish that compliment forever." He didn't sound offended, he was entertained. The engine rumbled to life and the city lights smeared across the windshield as he pulled away from the curb.
The ride home was comfortably quiet, the sound of the radio a distant melody beneath the sound of your own breathing. You watched him, noticing how he was so familiar, a constant in your life for years, but tonight, he felt different.
Inside the villa, instead of disappearing in his room like he usually did, he followed you into the kitchen, his movements quiet. You sank onto a barstool, resting your head in your hands.
"Here," he said softly. A glass of water appeared in front of you, along with two little white pills. "You'll thank me tomorrow."
You looked up at him, at the genuine concern etched on his face in the soft lighting. He was actually taking care of you. A warmth bloomed in your chest, a feeling so intense and sudden it almost took your breath away. It wasn't new, you realized with a jolt. It had been there for a while, buried under layers of the step-brother status and growing quietly in the dark. Tonight, the alcohol had simply stripped away the camouflage.
"Jake," you said, your voice barely audible.
"Hmm?" He was leaning against the counter opposite you, arms crossed and watching you.
You stood up, the stool scraping softly against the floor. You closed the small distance between you until you were standing so close you could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. "I really want to kiss you."
The words hung in the air between you. For a split second, you saw it ; a hint of something in his eyes. Hesitation ? Maybe conflict ? It was there and now it’s gone, replaced by a thing you’ve never seen before. He didn't move, like he just froze. So you took the initiative. You rose onto your toes and pressed your lips to his.
For a terrifying moment, he was still, a statue under your touch. And with a soft groan that sounded like surrender, he gave in. His hands shot out, one tangling in your hair, the other gripping your waist to pull you flush against him. The kiss was nothing like you'd imagined. It was hungry, a little desperate, a release of all the tension that was built since then. His tongue swept against yours, claiming your mouth, it was possessive and a little bit angry.
He walked you backward out of the kitchen and down the hall, his lips never leaving yours, guiding you with his body until your back hit the door of your bedroom. He fumbled with the handle, pushing it open and kicking it shut behind you. He broke the kiss, both of you breathing heavily in the darkness of your room.
"Y/N," he breathed, his voice rough. "I can’t—"
However he was already moving, pushing you gently towards your bed. You sat down on the edge, looking up at him. He stood before you, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his expression a storm of conflicting emotions. He slowly lowered himself to his knees in front of you on the bed. The sight of him there, sent a jolt of pure arousal straight through you. He placed his hands on your knees, spreading them apart. Then, he lifted one leg, placing his denim-clad thigh firmly between yours, right against the core of you.
"Go on," he urged, his voice a low command. "Take what you need."
It was an invitation you couldn't refuse. You began to move, rocking your hips against the hard muscle of his thigh. The friction of your core against him, the pressure right where you needed it, was intoxicating. Your hands gripped his forearm, your head falling back as you found a rhythm, chasing the pleasure that was building rapidly inside you.
"That's it," he murmured, his hands sliding up your thighs to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. "Just like that. Fuck, you look so good riding my thigh."
His words were gasoline on a fire. You moved faster, grinding against him, the coil in your stomach tightening and tightening, until you were right there, hovering on the precipice of your release. You could feel it, so close you could almost taste it.
But he moved.
He shifted his leg, just enough to break the perfect, maddening pressure. A whine of protest escaped your lips, your eyes flying open to meet his. He was watching you, his expression dark, a look of cruel satisfaction on his face.
"Jake," you begged, your hips still twitching with need.
He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "Not tonight, angel." he whispered, his voice a soft, devastating blow. He placed a gentle, almost chaste kiss on your cheek. Then he stood up, leaving you cold and wanting on the edge of your bed.
He walked to the door without looking back. "Goodnight, Y/N."
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you in the sudden, deafening silence of your room, your body humming with unfulfilled desire and the shocking, undeniable truth of your feelings for him.
──────
The villa felt larger and colder with Jake’s dad gone. The morning light was flat and grey, a sharp contrast to the blistering heat of the previous week. You sat on the edge of the sofa in the main living area, watching the dust motes dance in the air.
Jake had been a ghost all morning. He’d walked past you three times without a word, his eyes fixed on his phone or the floor, his shoulders back in their defensive, rounded slump.
The glass doors slid open, and Jake stepped inside from the terrace, dripping wet. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and a towel was slung loosely around his neck. He started toward the hallway, his head down, intending to bypass you entirely.
"Why are you ignoring me ?"
The question came out of nowhere. It was born from a week of mounting frustration and the strange, electric silence that had followed the night at the club.
Jake stopped, not turning around immediately. He stood with his back to you, the water from his swim trunks pooling on the stone floor. When he finally looked over his shoulder, he had the shy mask pulled tight. His eyes were wide, and he blinked rapidly behind his damp glasses.
"I...I'm n-not," he stammered, his voice thin. "I just have a lot of...work. From the university. The fall semester is starting soon, and I—"
"Stop it, Jake." You stood up, walking toward him until you were only a few feet away. "You’ve been avoiding eye contact since breakfast. You didn't even say good morning."
"I was just...busy, that’s all." he mummurred, looking at his feet.
"Why do you do that?" you asked, your curiosity finally overriding your caution. "How do you do it? One minute you're the guy who can't speak a full sentence without shaking, and the next you’re the person I saw at that club. And we even—" you stop yourself, the memories of the night before coming back to life in your head.
Jake stayed silent but you could notice how he stopped blinking frantically.
"It’s just us, Jake," you stepped closer, your voice dropping. "Nobody is watching. You don't have to play the part. It’s exhausting to watch you switch back and forth."
He still didn't speak, his breathing shallow.
"Something is happening," you said, the honesty of the statement making your heart thud. "Between us. It’s been growing during the whole summer break, and you know it. Why are you pretending it’s not?"
Not a single recoil. He slowly stood up straight, the hunch in his spine vanishing as he reached his full height. He pulled the towel from his neck and used it to slowly wipe the water from his face. When he dropped the towel onto a nearby chair, the shy boy was gone. His expression was unreadable. He didn't deny it nor did he confirm it. He looked at you with a terrifyingly calm intensity that made the air in the room feel unbearable.
Then, the corner of his mouth ticked upward into a slow, smug smile. It was the look of someone who had been caught but didn't care.
"I'm going to take a shower," he said. His voice was a steady vibration, completely devoid of any tremor. He started toward his suite, but as he reached the door, he paused and looked back at you over his shoulder. He let his gaze wander down your body before meeting your eyes again.
"You could always come with me," he murmured, his tone mocking and sharp. "If you’re so worried about being ignored."
Before you could answer, he stepped into his room and closed the door, the click of the lock echoing through the empty villa.
──────
Beyond all of this, you decided to cook. Not because you were hungry, it’s just because it was the only thing you could do to keep your mind off what happened these previous days. You focused on the task, deliberately keeping your mind off the shower running down the hall or the way he had looked at you before closing his door. You weren't going to wait for him.
The scent of his soap hits you a second before the heat of his body did.
You didn't hear his footsteps, but suddenly, thick arms slid around your waist, pulling you back against a solid, damp chest. You froze, the knife still in your hand, as his chin came to rest on your shoulder. He smelled of clean skin and a faint, expensive cologne.
"What's for dinner?" he asked.
His voice was a deep vibration against your ear, devoid of any stutter. He tightened his grip, his hands splaying across your stomach, pulling you flush against him so you could feel the dampness of his fresh t-shirt.
"Pasta," you managed to say, though your voice sounded strained. "And let go of me, Jake. I’m holding a knife."
"You're so tense," he murmured, ignoring your request. He shifted, his nose brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. "Your heart is going like crazy. Why is that?"
"It’s hot in here. The stove is on."
"Right. The stove." He let out a short, dry laugh ; a sound that was more of a scoff. He turned you around in his arms, forcing you to face him. He leaned back against the counter, trapping you between his legs. His glasses were gone, and his eyes were dark, tracking the way your breathing had become shallow. "You’re a fucking liar."
"And you're a fucking prick for playing these stupid games with me," you snapped, trying to push against his chest.
He didn't budge. He watched you, his hands moving to your hips to hold you in place. The shyness was nowhere to be found ; he looked at you with a heavy-handed confidence that felt predatory.
"You could eat something better than pasta," he said.
Before you could ask what he meant, he tilted your head back. He leaned down and captured your mouth with a raw, dominant intensity. This was deep and unapologetic, his tongue sliding against yours as he tasted you with hunger. He kissed you like he was finally claiming something he’d been watching from the periphery for years, his hands gripping your hips hard enough that you knew there would be marks the next day. The air in the kitchen felt like it was disappearing, leaving only the heat of him and the sharp, sudden reality that the mask had finally stayed off.
His hand slid from your waist to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair with a gentle but possessive grip. He pulled you toward him, and the next thing you knew, you were on your knees on the cool tile. The transition was seamless. You looked up at him, his presence towering over you, and reached out lower his sweatpants and his boxers. He wasn't interested in a slow and teasing exploration. He wanted it now.
You took him into your mouth, the taste of him flooding your senses. You started with a slow, prudent rhythm, your tongue tracing the vein along the underside, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn't in the mood for patience. His hand tightened in your hair as a silent command, and he guided your head downward.
You gagged slightly, the sudden intrusion making your eyes water, yet you didn't pull away. You let him take control, his hips thrusting forward, setting a rhythm that was faster than you expected. The kitchen was filled with the wet, obscene sounds of your mouths, a deafening contrast to the peaceful scenery of the villa.
"That’s a good girl," he growled, his other hand gripping your cheek.
You looked up at him through glazed eyes, a soft, pathetic whine escaping you around his cock. It was a sound of pure surrender, of being overwhelmed by sensation. He groaned again, the sound low and feral, and began to face fuck you with ruthless precision. Each thrust was harder than the last, his cock hitting the back of your throat, forcing you to take it all.
You couldn't do anything but hold on, your hands gripping his thighs for support, your breath coming in short and ragged gasps. You were completely at his mercy, his tool a piston driving into your mouth with increasing speed and ferocity. The heat of the room seemed to spike, the air feeling thick and charged with desire.
"That's it," he commanded, his voice strained. "Take it all. You love this, don't you? You love getting fucked in the mouth."
You whined again, a mix of pleasure and desperation, your body trembling as he bottomed out. You couldn't speak or couldn't form words, surrendered to the rhythm he set, letting him use your mouth exactly the way he wanted.
He stopped and pulled out, bringing his fingers to your mouth. You suck on his finger, swirling your tongue around the tip like it’s the most delicious thing in the world, desperate to taste more of him even as you gasp for air. He watches you with a smirk, pulling his hand out slowly and watching you chase it, lips parting in a pathetic whine. "God, look at you," he scoffs, his voice dripping with contempt. "You're dripping all over the floor like a desperate little slut."
He lifts his pelvis, dragging the slick, angry head of his cock against your wet, swollen lips. He doesn't let you swallow him this time. He taps the tip rhythmically against your mouth—tap, tap, tap—teasing you, denying you the fullness you're begging for. "You want it ? Sorry, baby."
He pulls away completely, leaving you straining on the cold floor, mouth open and wanting. He pulls his pants and boxers up with a casual snap, ignoring your hand reaching out for him. "Enjoy your pasta alone," he says, turning on his heel and walking out of the kitchen, leaving you panting and aching on the tiles.
On a stormy evening after a group project, college student y/n finds herself soaked and stranded with her childhood best friend, Yang Jungwon.
Warning : jungwon!bestfriend x femreader 18+ MDNI , slight cursing, Smut, Fluff, College AU, Best Friends to Lovers, Unprotected Sex (raw), Multiple Rounds (missionary, cow girl ) , Fingering, Oral (69), Dirty Talk, Teasing, Slight Size Kink, Possessiveness, Fluff-to-Smut.
word count ( 6.6k )
listen to me while reading
you were sitting at an outdoor table on campus, surrounded by trees and a natural atmosphere. You’re a college student currently taking Business Administration.
you were hovering over your laptop and textbooks since you were supposed to be doing a group project. Well, supposedly. The rest of your classmates had left early, complaining and making excuses that they had a long bus ride, meaning they had to leave earlier. You knew a few of them were just tired, and some intentionally just wanted to get out of there.
But across from you, Yang Jungwon — your best friend since childhood — was still there, calmly typing on his laptop, helping you finish the slides without complaint.
He was always like that. Popular, smart, quiet but friendly, the campus gentleman with those sharp cat-like eyes and the killer left dimple that appeared every time he smiled. Half the girls in your department were probably jealous you got to sit across from him like this.
You leaned back and sighed. “Jungwon-ah… you could’ve just gone home early, you know. You didn’t have to stay this long.”
He looked up, one eyebrow raised, that signature dimple flashing as he smirked.
“It’s a school project, y/n,” he said, voice teasing. “And I don’t want my favorite pain in the ass doing it all by herself. Who else is gonna make sure you don’t put wrong data in the charts?”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, yeah. My hero.”
“That’s right,” he grinned, leaning forward. “You should be nicer to me. I’m sacrificing my precious nap time for you.”
you few hour's had past it was already getting darker, dark blue sky you glanced at your phone and check the time it was already 6:25 pm..
you glance back at jungwon, "jungwon I'll just finish the rest.. let just go home it's getting darker", jungwon didn't seem to be bothered he nodded started gathering his things too, helped with yours too.
when things finally settled, you started walking side by side, you had to leave right away since you still have to walk outside the campus from were your apartment is. while jungwon has its own dorm inside campus, both of you heard sound of the rain already approaching, within a sec you both were soaked was by rain.
the rain came down hard and sudden, soaking through your clothes in seconds. You hissed in frustration, clutching your backpack tighter against your chest.
“Shit… my laptop!” you hissed.
Jungwon let out a short laugh despite the rain, water dripping from his hair. “Come on, drama queen! My dorm’s closer. Run!”
Before you could protest, he grabbed your hand — his grip warm and firm even through the cold rain — and pulled you along with him. You both sprinted through the dimly lit campus paths, shoes splashing against puddles. His broad shoulders tried to shield you a little, but it was useless. your oversized plaid shirt was now glued to your body, and your wide-leg pants felt like they weighed ten kilos.
By the time you reached his dorm building, you were both laughing and panting. He quickly swiped his keycard, held the door open for you like the gentleman he was, and you rushed inside.
the warm light and sudden quiet after the roaring rain felt heavenly. Jungwon shook his hair like a wet puppy, droplets flying everywhere, then turned to you with a playful grin. His white shirt was now see-through, clinging to his shoulders and chest.
“You look like a drowned cat,” he teased, eyes sparkling with mischief. “A very cute drowned cat, though.”
You were still clutching your backpack to your chest, cheeks warming up. “Ya… Jungwon, it’s fine. I’ll just—”
“Shower,” he cut you off, already walking toward his closet. “No arguments. You’re soaked and I’m not letting you get sick. I’ll lend you clothes. Mine will be big on you but way better than walking home like that.”
He tossed you one of his hoodies and a pair of sweatpants, then tilted his head with that signature dimpled smile.
“Unless you want me to join you in the shower to save water? Best friend privileges,” he joked, winking.
Your eyes widened. “Yang Jungwon!”
He laughed — bright and boyish — clearly enjoying how easily he could fluster you.
“Kidding. Mostly.” He nodded toward the bathroom. “Go warm up. I’ll dry your stuff and order something to eat. You’re not leaving until the rain stops anyway.”
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, still dripping but looking annoyingly good even like this.
“Hurry up, y/n. Or I really will come drag you in there myself.”
“Don't try...” you warned, raising a small fist at him threateningly as you backed toward the bathroom. “I’m serious, Yang Jungwon. No funny business.”
Jungwon just grinned, that left dimple deepening as he lifted both hands in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, though his cat-like eyes clearly said otherwise. “Go warm up, y/n. I’ll behave… for now.”
You rolled your eyes and quickly slipped into the bathroom, heart beating a little faster than usual.
After a nice warm shower, you changed into the clothes Jungwon lent you — his oversized black hoodie that reached mid-thigh and a pair of gray sweatpants you had to roll at the waist. They smelled like him. You sat on the edge of his bed, still gently ruffling your damp hair with a towel when he came out of the bathroom a few minutes later.
Jungwon had changed into a simple white t-shirt and black sweatpants. A towel was draped over his head as he ruffled his own hair, making it messy in that annoyingly cute way. He walked over and casually plopped down right beside you on the bed, close enough that your knees almost touched.
Without saying anything, he reached over and took the towel from your hands, continuing to gently dry your hair for you.
You froze for a second, then let out a soft laugh. “Jungwon… I can do it myself.”
He didn’t stop. His fingers moved carefully through your hair gently, as he tilted his head with a small smile.
“Let me,” he said softly, voice warm.
You stayed quiet, letting him. The room was filled with only the sound of rain still pouring outside and the faint rustle of the towel. After a moment, Jungwon’s smile turned a little nostalgic.
“You know… this reminds me of when we were five,” he murmured, still drying your hair. “You got all stubborn and ran out to play in the rain even though your mom said no. We both ended up soaked and got scolded so badly.”
You let out a quiet laugh, remembering. “You got in trouble because of me that day.”
“Mhm,” Jungwon hummed, his cat eyes crinkling. “But I still dried your hair after, just like this. Even back then you were already a handful.” He paused, then teased, “Some things never change, huh?”
You turned your head slightly to look at him, cheeks warming again. “And you’re still the same… always acting like my personal caretaker.”
He grinned, showing off that dimple again as he leaned in a little closer, pretending to inspect your hair.
“Someone has to take care of you. You’d probably catch a cold and blame me tomorrow if I didn’t.” His voice dropped playfully, “Or maybe I just like taking care of you. Best friend privilege, remember?”
You nudged his shoulder lightly. “You’re so cheesy today.”
“Only for you,” he winked, still gently tousling your hair with the towel. “Now sit still. I’m not done yet.”
You slowly raised both hands and rested them on the bed for balance, smiling down at him even though he was still gently drying your hair. Jungwon’s fingers paused for a second, but you didn’t let him finish. Instead, you reached for the towel still around his neck and started tousling his damp hair yourself.
“And remember,” you said softly, smiling, “I did the exact same thing to you back then.”
You leaned in a little closer as you dried his hair, your body naturally rising. His head ended up right in front of your chest as he looked up at you with those sharp cat-like eyes. You kept talking casually, completely unaware of how intimate the moment had become.
“You always got sick easier than me, so I had to dry your hair like this every time you followed me into the rain. Remember? You’d complain the whole time but still let me do it.”
Jungwon didn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand slowly moved to rest on your waist, holding you firmly in place. His grip was warm and steady through the oversized hoodie you were wearing. He kept looking up at you, his usual playful smile fading into something softer in his eyes.
You finally noticed.
The playful words died on your lips as your eyes met his. The two of you stared at each other for a long moment — longer than best friends probably should. The sound of rain drumming against the window filled the quiet room.
You slowly lowered your hand, letting the towel rest around his neck. Jungwon’s free hand moved from your waist to gently touch your shoulder, then brushed a strand of damp hair away from your cheek. Both of his hands eventually cupped your face, thumbs lightly stroking your skin.
Your breath caught. Without thinking, you slid your hands around his neck, steadying yourself as you both leaned in closer… closer…
Your foreheads rested together. The warmth of his skin, the familiar scent of his shampoo, the way his breath brushed your lips — everything felt electric.
Then, slowly, naturally, like it had been waiting for years, Jungwon tilted his head just slightly and kissed you.
It was soft at first. Gentle. A careful press of his lips against yours, almost testing if you’d pull away. When you didn’t — when you kissed him back — the kiss deepened, his hands still cradling your face like you were something precious.
He tasted warmth inside you.
When you finally pulled back just enough to breathe, Jungwon’s cat eyes were half-lidded, his left dimple barely showing as he gave you a small, almost shy smile.
“…Took us long enough, huh?” he whispered, voice a little husky, thumb still brushing your cheek. “My stubborn best friend.”
Before you could even answer him, before your brain could catch up with what just happened, you pulled him in again.
Your hands tightened around his neck as you leaned forward and kissed him once more — this time with a little more confidence and little more need. Jungwon let out a soft surprised sound against your lips before melting into it, his arms wrapping fully around your waist and pulling you closer.
The second kiss was warmer. Deeper. Less careful.
His lips moved against yours with that same gentle firmness he always had, but now there was a quiet hunger behind it. One of his hands slid up your back, fingers slipping under the oversized hoodie you were wearing, pressing against your warm skin. The other stayed on your waist, holding you like he was afraid you’d disappear.
When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing a little heavier. Your foreheads stayed pressed together. Jungwon’s cat-like eyes were darker now, half-lidded, and that famous left dimple appeared as he gave you a small, breathless smile.
“Wow… okay,” he whispered, voice teasing, though slightly shaky. “If I knew drying your hair would lead to this, I would’ve done it every single day since we were kids.”
You let out a soft laugh, still holding onto him. Your cheeks were burning.
“Shut up, Jungwon…”
He chuckled, the sound warm. He leaned in and placed a quick, playful kiss on the tip of your nose, then your forehead, before resting his head against yours again.
“You know,” he murmured, thumb gently stroking your lower back under the hoodie, “I’ve been waiting for you to do that for years. My stubborn best friend finally kissed me first. I’m never letting you live this down.”
His eyes sparkled with that familiar mischief, but there was something softer underneath — something real.
“So…” he tilted his head, lips brushing yours again teasingly, “does this mean I can stop pretending I only see you as my best friend? Or are we still playing that game?”
He stayed close, arms wrapped around you, waiting for your answer while the rain continued pouring outside — like the world had slowed down just for the two of you.
You nodded slowly, eyes locked on his.
“No more pretending,” you whispered.
Then you wrapped your arms around his neck tighter, pulling him even closer until there was almost no space left between you. Your noses brushed, and you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips as you stared at him — really looked at him.
Jungwon’s eyes softened, but the playful spark was still there. His left dimple slowly appeared as he smiled, arms tightening around your waist in return.
“Good,” he murmured, voice low and a little husky. “Because I’ve been pretending for way too long.”
He leaned in first this time, capturing your lips in another kiss. This one was slower, deeper, like he was savoring the fact that he finally could. One of his hands slid up your back under the hoodie, fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin while the other stayed firmly on your waist, keeping you pressed against him.
When he pulled back just enough to speak, his forehead rested against yours again.
“You have no idea how many times I wanted to do this,” he confessed with a soft chuckle, brushing his nose against yours playfully. “Every time you smiled at me. Every time you teased me. Every single time we got caught in the rain together… I just wanted to kiss you.”
You laughed quietly, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
Jungwon tilted his head, eyes narrowing in that cute mischievous way. “So… does this mean you’re officially my girl now? Or are we still calling this best friend privileges with extra steps?”
He leaned in and placed a quick, teasing kiss on the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the tip of your nose — clearly enjoying how flustered he could still make you.
“Because I’m really hoping it’s the first one,” he added, voice dropping playfully as he hugged you tighter. “I’ve waited since we were kids to call you mine, y/n."
You smiled softly, still wrapped tightly around him, and whispered against his lips.
“I have always been yours, silly.”
Jungwon’s eyes widened for a split second before that bright, heart-melting smile broke across his face — the one that showed his left dimple perfectly. He let out a soft, relieved laugh and buried his face in the crook of your neck, hugging you even tighter.
“God… you’re going to kill me saying things like that,” he mumbled against your skin, his breath warm. He pulled back just enough to look at you again.
You tilted your head, still holding him close. “So… what now?”
Jungwon hummed thoughtfully, pretending to think seriously while his hands gently caressed your waist under the oversized hoodie.
“Hmm… good question,” he said, voice playful. He leaned in and gave you a slow, sweet kiss before pulling away with a smirk.
“What now is… I finally get to do all the things I’ve been holding back for years.”
He gently pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, then rested his forehead against yours again.
“First, I’m keeping you here tonight. No walking home in the rain. Second…” He kissed the corner of your mouth teasingly. “I get to call you my girlfriend. For real this time. No more just best friends excuses.”
He pulled back slightly, eyes softening as he looked at you with that gentle, fond expression only you ever got to see.
“And third…” His voice dropped a little, more sincere now. “We take this slow if you want… or not slow. Whatever you’re comfortable with. You’ve always been my priority, y/n. That’s not changing just because I can finally kiss you whenever I want.”
He grinned again, that playful glint returning as he lightly poked your side.
“But fair warning… I’m probably going to be annoyingly clingy now. You created this monster, so you have to deal with it.”
Jungwon leaned in and kissed you once more — soft, lingering, and full of quiet joy — before resting his chin on your shoulder, hugging you close while the rain continued falling outside.
“So… girlfriend,” he whispered teasingly against your ear. “What do you want to do now?”
You stayed wrapped in his arms pulled him away for a sec, your faces so close that your breaths mixed. Looking straight into his eyes, something bolder took over. Your voice dropped to a soft, shaky whisper.
“I’ve thought about it so many times… how you’d feel inside me,” you confessed, cheeks burning. “How warm you’d be… how deep you could go.”
The words hung heavy between you.
You whispered those bold words against his lips, and something in Jungwon snapped.
For a second, Jungwon froze, his eyes darkening instantly. His grip on your waist tightened, fingers pressing into your skin like he was trying to steady himself. You could feel his heartbeat pick up against your chest.
Then you slowly pulled back just enough to smile at him — a shy but playful little smile, like you couldn’t believe you’d just said that.
Jungwon let out a shaky breath, his left dimple flashing as he smirked, though his ears had turned bright red.
“Fuck, y/n…” he whispered, voice suddenly Husky “You can’t say something like that while looking at me with those eyes and then smile so innocently.”
His eyes darkened with want. Without another word, he pulled you into a deep, hungry kiss, tongues meeting as he flipped you both so you were lying on your back on his bed.
You tugged at his shirt impatiently. Jungwon helped you pull it over his head, then reached for the oversized hoodie you were wearing. Piece by piece, your clothes disappeared — his shirt, his sweatpants, your borrowed clothes — until both of you were completely bare, skin against skin.
He kissed you like he was starving, hands roaming over your body with a mix of gentleness and desperation. His lips moved from your mouth to your neck, then lower, leaving soft marks on your collarbone as he settled between your legs.
“Been waiting so long for this…” he breathed against your skin.
You pulled him back up, kissing him hard as you felt him press against your entrance bare Raw.
Jungwon looked into your eyes, silently asking. You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck.
He pushed in slowly at first, groaning deeply as he felt your warmth surround him. Inch by inch, he filled you completely, stretching you open until he bottomed out with a shaky breath.
“Fuck… y/n,” he whispered, voice rough. “You feel even better than I imagined.”
He started moving — deep, steady thrusts that pressed you harder into the sheets. You moaned, legs wrapping around him. Jungwon grabbed your thighs, pushing them back toward your chest, opening you up more as he fucked you raw.
Your hands moved to hold the back of your own thighs, steadying them just like he wanted, keeping yourself spread for him. You looked up at him — flushed cheeks, messy hair, that left dimple showing even now as he smiled through the pleasure.
Jungwon’s eyes were locked on yours, intense and full of emotion as he thrust deeper, the sound of skin meeting skin mixing with the rain.
“Look at me, baby,” he panted, leaning down to kiss you messily while still moving inside you. “Been my best friend for years… now you’re finally mine. All mine.”
He picked up the pace, fucking you harder, pressing you deeper into the mattress. Every thrust was raw, warm, and perfect. His hands stayed on your thighs, helping you hold them open as he drove into you again and again.
You could feel every inch of him.
“Jungwon…” you moaned his name, eyes never leaving his.
He groaned, forehead pressed to yours, breathing heavy.
“That’s it… keep looking at me while I fuck you,” he whispered playfully, even now, voice husky. “My pretty girl.”
“Fuck… fuck… fuck…” you whimpered breathlessly, the words spilling out like a broken prayer as Jungwon drove into you harder.
You were holding the back of your own thighs tightly, keeping them pressed up and open for him just like he wanted. Every deep, raw thrust made your body jolt against the sheets, your voice cracking into soft, desperate moans.
Jungwon groaned above you, his cat-like eyes dark and locked on your face, watching every expression you made.
“Shit, baby…” he panted, voice husky and strained. “You’re squeezing me so tight.”
He leaned down closer, folding you even more as he fucked you deeper — slow but powerful strokes that made you feel every inch of him. Skin slapped against skin, wet and filthy, mixing with the heavy sound of rain pounding against the window.
“Look at you,” he whispered hotly against your ear, one hand still gripping your thigh while the other braced beside your head. “My pretty best friend… moaning my name while I fuck you raw like this.”
You moaned louder, eyes fluttering as pleasure crashed through you. “Jungwon… fuck—”
He kissed you messily, swallowing your whimpers as his hips snapped forward again and again, burying himself to the hilt every time. The angle had him hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over, making your toes curl.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, sweat glistening on his forehead, that left dimple flashing even through his wrecked expression.
“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he groaned, voice playful but dripping with lust. “Been holding this in for years… and now you’re letting me ruin you like this? So good for me, baby.”
His pace quickened, thrusting harder, deeper, pressing your thighs further back as he fucked you into the mattress. Your moans turned into high-pitched whimpers, body trembling beneath him.
Jungwon pressed his forehead to yours, breathing heavily.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, even as he kept pounding into you, “but fuck… I don’t want to stop. You feel too perfect.”
He kissed you again, swallowing another string of “fuck… fuck…” that fell from your lips, hips never slowing down.
“Fuck… fuck… fuck…” you kept whimpering, voice breaking with every deep thrust as Jungwon fucked you raw, your hands still gripping the back of your thighs to keep yourself spread open for him.
Jungwon’s pace became more intense, hips snapping harder as he felt you clenching around him.
“Jungwon…” you moaned loudly, eyes glassy with pleasure. “Jungwon…!”
“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, voice rough and low. He leaned down, pressing his chest against yours while still holding your thighs open. “Cum for me. Let me feel you.”
He angled his hips and started hitting that perfect spot relentlessly, faster and deeper. Your moans turned into broken cries as the pressure built unbearably tight inside you.
“Jungwon—!” you gasped sharply, body suddenly tensing.
You came hard around him, thighs shaking in your own grip as waves of pleasure crashed through you. Your walls pulsed and squeezed him tightly, making Jungwon groan deeply, he fucked you through your orgasm.
“Fuck, you’re so tight when you cum…” he panted, kissing your neck messily while still moving inside you, slower now to let you ride it out.
You were still trembling when you finally caught your breath. Looking up at him with hazy eyes, you whispered breathlessly,
“Let me… take over…”
Jungwon’s eyes flashed with surprise and excitement. He gave you a lazy, dimpled smirk even while still buried deep inside you.
“Yeah?” he breathed, leaning down to kiss you once before pulling out slowly, making you both hiss at the loss.
He rolled onto his back beside you, his hard cock glistening and flushed. You didn’t waste time — you climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. Jungwon’s hands immediately found your waist, guiding you as you hovered over him.
“Go on then, baby,” he said, voice husky and teasing, though his eyes were blazing. “Take over. Use me however you want.”
You wrapped your hand around his length, lining him up before slowly sinking down onto him again, taking every inch until he was fully inside you once more. The new angle made both of you moan.
Jungwon’s head fell back against the pillow, hands gripping your hips tightly.
“Shit… you look so good on top,” he groaned, watching you with hooded eyes. “Ride me, y/n. Show your best friend— fuck, your boyfriend how badly you’ve wanted this too.”
He gave you that signature playful smirk even while breathing heavily, thumbs stroking your skin encouragingly.
You braced your hands on his chest and started riding him, rolling your hips in a steady rhythm, taking him deep with every movement. Jungwon’s grip on your waist tightened, fingers digging into your skin as he watched you with hungry eyes.
“Cum for me please…” you moaned breathlessly, voice shaky as you bounced on his cock. “Baby… Jungwon please— cum inside me…”
Jungwon groaned loudly, his head pressing back into the pillow for a second before he snapped his gaze back to you. That left dimple appeared as he smirked through the pleasure.
“Fuck, y/n… you’re so dirty when you want something,” he rasped. “Begging your best friend to fill you up like this?”
He sat up slightly, wrapping one strong arm around your back while the other gripped your hip hard, guiding your movements. He started thrusting up to meet you, driving himself deeper with every bounce.
“That’s it, baby. Ride me just like that— fuck, you’re taking me so well,” he growled against your neck, biting down lightly. “You feel so fucking good… so warm and wet. This pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?”
You moaned louder, hips moving faster as he guided you, controlling the pace with his firm hands. Jungwon’s breath was hot against your skin, his voice dropping even lower.
“You want me to cum inside you? Want your boyfriend to fill you up raw until it’s dripping out of you?” He thrust up harder, making you cry out. “Been waiting years to breed this pretty cunt… and now you’re asking so nicely.”
He kissed you messily, tongues sliding together as he helped you ride him faster, deeper. His hand slipped between your bodies, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit.
“Cum again for me first,” he demanded playfully, even while panting. “I want to feel you squeezing my cock before I fill you up.”
The pressure built quickly. Between his thrusts, his thumb, and his filthy words, you came again with a broken moan, clenching hard around him.
Jungwon groaned deeply, hips stuttering. “That’s my good girl— fuck!”
He pulled you down hard onto him and came, pulsing hot and deep inside you. You felt every twitch, every warm spurt as he filled you up, groaning your name against your shoulder.
For a moment, the only sounds were your heavy breathing and the rain still pouring outside.
But Jungwon wasn’t done.
He flipped you over onto your back in one smooth motion, still buried inside you. His eyes were gleaming with mischief and hunger as he looked down at you, a lazy smirk on his lips.
“Another round,” he whispered, voice husky. He slowly rolled his hips, pushing his cum even deeper into you. “You didn’t think I was finished with you after one time, did you?”
He leaned down and kissed you deeply, already starting to move again — slower this time, but just as deep.
“Look at me, baby,” he murmured against your lips, that signature dimple showing. “I’m gonna fuck you all night. My pretty girlfriend deserves to be ruined properly, don’t you think?”
Jungwon stayed buried deep inside you for a few more moments, savoring the way you were still fluttering around him. Then, with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, he pulled out almost completely — only the tip of his cock resting against your soaked entrance.
You whimpered at the sudden emptiness.
“Jungwon…” you breathed, voice needy and slightly frustrated.
He smirked down at you, that signature left dimple deepening. Sweat glistened on his skin, but he looked far too composed for someone who had just fucked you senseless.
“Hmm?” he hummed innocently, tilting his head. One hand slid down between your bodies, and he lazily rubbed the head of his cock up and down your slick folds, teasing your clit with every slow stroke. “What’s wrong, baby?”
You tried to roll your hips up to take him back in, but he pulled back just enough to deny you, chuckling softly.
“Jungwon…” you whined again, reaching for his shoulders.
He caught your wrists gently and pinned them above your head with one hand, leaning down so his lips brushed against your ear.
“So impatient,” he teased, voice low and playful. “You were just begging me to cum inside you like a good girl… and now you’re already desperate for more?”
He continued rubbing his cock against you — slow, torturous slides through your wetness, occasionally pressing just the tip inside before pulling back out again. Every time you thought he’d finally push in, he denied you with a soft laugh.
“Look at you,” he murmured, kissing along your jaw. “My sweet best friend… now my greedy little girlfriend. You’re dripping everywhere, y/n. Making such a mess on my sheets.”
He pressed in just a little deeper this time — only halfway — then pulled out again completely, tapping his cock against your sensitive clit.
“Jungwon, please…” you gasped, squirming underneath him.
“Please what?” he asked, eyes gleaming with that familiar teasing glint. He leaned down and kissed you softly, then pulled back before you could deepen it. “You want me to fuck you again? Or should I keep teasing this pretty pussy until you’re crying for me?”
He rubbed his length against you even slower, watching your face closely, clearly enjoying every frustrated moan and whimper you let out.
“I’ve waited years to have you like this,” he whispered hotly against your neck, nipping at your skin. “Let me enjoy my new favorite toy for a little longer, yeah?”
He finally pushed the tip back in, stretching you open again, but stayed completely still, refusing to give you the friction you desperately wanted.
“Tell me nicely, baby,” he cooed, smiling against your lips. “Beg your boyfriend properly.”
“Please… baby…” you whimpered, hips twitching desperately under him. “I want you inside… please.”
Jungwon’s teasing smirk finally softened into something darker and hungrier. He let out a low groan at your sweet begging.
“Fuck… how can I say no when you ask like that?”
He pushed back inside you in one smooth, deep thrust, burying himself to the hilt. You both moaned loudly as he filled you again. This time he didn’t tease — he fucked you properly, harder, hips snapping against yours while he held your thighs open.
“Such a good girl,” he panted, kissing you messily. “My pretty girlfriend takes me so well.”
You went through a few more intense rounds after that — switching positions, him taking you from behind. The rain eventually stopped, but the sounds of your moans and skin slapping together filled the room for hours.
Eventually, you both ended up in a heated 69. You were on top facing backward, leaning down to take his cock into your mouth, sucking him eagerly while he had his face buried between your thighs. Jungwon groaned against your swollen pussy, sucking on your clit while two fingers pumped inside you.
“Fuck— just like that, baby,” he moaned, voice muffled as he licked and fingered you messily. “Suck me deeper… yeah, good girl.”
You whimpered around his length, hips grinding back against his tongue as he devoured you. Both of you were desperate and sloppy, chasing pleasure until you both came hard one last time.
The next morning, soft sunlight filtered through the curtains. You slowly woke up, body deliciously sore, voice raspy from hours of moaning and whimpering his name.
Your eyes widened when you realized how bright it was outside.
“Jungwon…” you called, voice hoarse and rough.
He stirred beside you, pulling you closer under the blanket. Both of you were still completely naked, skin warm against each other.
“Hmm?” he mumbled sleepily, burying his face in your neck. Then his eyes opened slowly. When he saw the time on his phone, he let out a quiet laugh.
“Shit… we’re definitely late for class.”
He rolled over so he was half on top of you, kissing your forehead, then your cheeks, then your lips gently.
“Morning, girlfriend,” he whispered with a playful smile, that left dimple showing. “How’s your voice? Sounds like someone got properly ruined last night.”
You blushed, hiding your face in his chest. Jungwon chuckled and hugged you tighter, his hand gently rubbing your back in slow, soothing circles.
Aftercare mode was fully on. He kissed the top of your head and spoke softly.
“You okay? Not too sore?” He gently stroked your hair. “I’ll make you some warm tea for your throat. We can skip morning classes… or at least the first one. I’ll send a message to our group chat saying we’re finishing the project.”
He pulled back slightly to look at you, eyes full of warmth and affection.
“Last night was… everything,” he said sincerely, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “No more pretending. You’re really mine now.”
You smiled tiredly and nodded. Jungwon leaned in and gave you one last soft kiss.
“Stay in bed a little longer, baby. I’ll take care of you today too… just like always.”
You shook your head, still curled up against him under the blanket, body sore and voice raspy.
“No… we aren’t even done yet. Get up, get up,” you said, poking his chest. “The project isn’t finished. We still have to meet the group today.”
Jungwon groaned dramatically, burying his face in your neck. “But you’re sore… and I like you in my bed.”
“Too bad,” you laughed, pushing at his shoulder even though your legs still felt shaky. “Responsibility first, boyfriend.”
He lifted his head, eyes narrowing playfully at the new title. That left dimple appeared as he smirked.
“Say that again.”
“Boyfriend,” you repeated, cheeks warming.
Jungwon’s expression softened into something dangerously fond. He leaned in and kissed you slow and deep, like he was sealing the word into reality.
“Fine,” he sighed against your lips. “But I’m helping you with everything today. No arguments.”
He stayed true to his word. After another gentle shower (with lots of soft kisses but no more sex), he helped you dry off and even carried you back to your apartment when your legs protested walking too much.
At your place, Jungwon sat on your bed and watched with a small smile as you changed. You slipped into the cute floral skirt that swayed gently around your thighs, a white tube top, and a soft cardigan over it. He stood up to help adjust the cardigan, fingers lingering on your waist.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Still can’t believe you’re mine now.”
He walked you all the way to campus, hand in hand the entire time, refusing to let you carry your own bag.
When you finally reached the outdoor table, the rest of the group was already there. You sat down carefully — very aware of how sore you were — and Jungwon immediately scooted his chair right next to yours, arm resting along the back of your seat.
The group noticed the extra closeness right away.
One of the girls smirked. “You two are extra attached today. Did something happen?”
Jungwon just smiled calmly, his fingers lightly playing with the sleeve of your cardigan. “We stayed up really late finishing the slides. Right, y/n?”
You nodded, trying to keep a straight face. “Yeah. Very long night.”
The others laughed it off easily.
“Typical Jungwon and y/n behavior,” one of the guys said, waving it away. “You two have been glued together since freshman year. Nothing new.”
They had no idea.
Under the table, Jungwon’s hand rested possessively on your thigh, thumb drawing slow circles over your floral skirt. He leaned in close while pretending to look at the shared laptop screen, whispering softly in your ear.
“If they knew I spent half the night buried inside my best friend… and that she’s still sore because of me… they wouldn’t be so casual about it.”
You pinched his leg under the table, cheeks burning.
“Focus,” you whispered back, but you couldn’t hide your smile.
Jungwon just chuckled quietly, that killer dimple flashing as he turned back to the group and started calmly explaining the next part of the presentation like nothing had changed.
But everything had.
He stayed glued to your side the entire session — refilling your water, handing you pens, occasionally brushing your hair behind your ear. The group just assumed it was normal best-friend behavior.
Only you two knew the truth behind every soft touch and secret glance.
When the group finally wrapped up for the day, Jungwon leaned in again, lips brushing your ear.
“Project’s done. Now can I take my girlfriend home?” His voice dropped teasingly. “I’ll be gentle this time… maybe.”
He gave you that mischievous cat-like smile, waiting for your answer.
You turned to him with a soft laugh, reaching up to gently squeeze his cheek between your fingers. His skin was warm under your touch.
“Alright, alright, baby…” you whispered, voice still a little raspy from last night.
Jungwon’s eyes widened for a split second in surprise, then softened with pure affection. That signature left dimple deepened as he smiled brightly, clearly loving the new pet name in public — even if the group couldn’t hear.
The rest of the group was busy packing up their things, chatting among themselves, completely unaware of the intimate little moment happening right beside them.
Jungwon leaned in closer, his hand still resting on your thigh under the table, and murmured just loud enough for you to hear.
“Say it again later when we’re alone. I like how it sounds coming from my girlfriend.”
You rolled your eyes fondly but couldn’t stop smiling. He helped you gather your things, slinging both your bag and his over his shoulder before offering his hand.
As the two of you walked away from the table, side by side under the late afternoon sun, Jungwon glanced back at the group once and then at you, his expression warm and content.
“Best friends to this… took us long enough,” he said softly, squeezing your hand. “No more pretending.”
You leaned your head against his shoulder as you walked, the floral skirt swaying gently with each step.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “Finally.”
Jungwon pressed a quick, sweet kiss to the top of your head, that playful sparkle still in his eyes.
“Come on, baby. Let’s go home. I still owe you proper aftercare… and maybe round… whatever we’re on now.”
You laughed and squeezed his hand tighter.
The rain from last night was long gone. The sky was clear, and so was everything between you two.
— holy moly anyways I hope you enjoy it anon (~￣³￣)~ ♡
🗯️ 内容 explicit sexual content ♫ 18+ ⸝⸝ intended for mature audiences | minors do not interact ᯓ established and secret relationship, bath sex, praise kink, petnames, overstimulation, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, riding, fingering, creampie, aftercare, lots of domestic intimacy !
⟶ mentioned ⋮ jungwon (enhypen)
EL’S ✷ BUBBLE : this specific blood saga sunoo look had me in chains 😢 sooo so happy i get to write for all seven of them for my lil event ! lowkirkenuinely gonna try updating everyday so i can finish my event requests asap . . this request, thank you so muchi :b i love him brah #WENEEDMORESUNOOFICS faaaah
The cotton pad comes away stained, a soft smudge of foundation and concealer and stage blush all blended together into a shade that is almost but not quite the color of his skin.
You fold it over, find a clean edge, and bring it back to his face, swiping gently along the line of his jaw where the contour is darkest, where the stage lights demanded angles that his face didn't need help creating in the first place.
Sunoo's eyes are closed.
His lashes, still coated in the faint remnants of mascara that you haven't gotten to yet, cast soft, feathery shadows against his cheekbones in the lamplight of your bedroom.
His head is tipped back slightly, resting against the headboard with a kind of boneless exhaustion that makes him look younger, softer, like all the sharpness and charisma and electric stage presence has been peeled away along with the layers of makeup and you're left with just him.
Just Sunoo. The one only you get to see.
There's a half-empty glass of water on the nightstand.
You'd placed it there for him before he even arrived, before the knock on the door that came at exactly 11:42 PM, before he practically fell into your arms the second you opened it and buried his face in your neck and held on so tight you could feel his heartbeat through his chest. You'd stood there in your doorway for two full minutes, maybe longer, just holding him while he mumbled "I missed you, I missed you, I missed you" into your skin like a prayer he'd been reciting in his head for hours and finally got permission to say out loud. Two minutes of his weight against yours, his breath warm and unsteady on your collarbone, his hands fisted in the back of your shirt like he was afraid you might dissolve if he let go.
Now he's propped up on your bed, still wearing his stage outfit, his red shirt clinging to his skin with the faint dampness of sweat that hasn't fully dried.
You'd already wiped the beading sweat from his forehead with a warm towel, traced the damp hair away from his temples, felt the fever-warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.
The concert had ended around 9:30, but that was never the end of it, was it.
After the last note faded and the lights went down and the screams dissolved into the hum of the arena packing up, there were still group photos and a mini-meeting and interviews where he'd had to smile and be charming and give thoughtful, articulate answers to questions he'd answered a thousand times before.
The boys had finished all of that by 10:40 and piled into the van back to their shared dormitory, but Sunoo had made arrangements earlier in the day, told management he'd be booking a private cab to his sister's place because it was his mom's birthday and he wanted to see her, and surprisingly, miraculously, the company had allowed it.
He didn't have to worry about anyone following him at this hour, the streets quiet and dark and empty, no cameras, no fans lurking in the shadows, just the hum of the cab and the glow of the city passing outside the window and the anticipation building in his chest like a slow, warm tide.
The twist, of course, was that he wasn't going to his sister's place at all.
He was coming to yours.
Gated neighborhood in the middle of the city, security at the entrance, privacy hedges, quiet streets, and the kind of anonymity that money and a good address could buy. Safe. Discreet. Yours.
You move the cotton pad to his other cheek, and he sighs, a soft, tired sound that makes your chest squeeze.
"Your hands are warm," he murmurs without opening his eyes.
"Your face is warm. You're still overheated from the stage."
"Mhm." He tilts his head slightly, leaning into your touch like a cat seeking warmth, and the unconscious tenderness of the gesture makes your throat tighten. "S'nice."
"Almost done. Hold still."
You work in silence for a while, the kind of comfortable, easy silence that only comes from being with someone long enough that you don't need to fill every second with words.
The lamp on your nightstand casts a warm, golden glow over the bed, over the curve of his cheekbone and the bow of his lips and the long, dark fan of his lashes.
The pad moves across his forehead, his nose, the delicate skin under his eyes where the eyeliner has smudged into soft, smoky shadows.
You're careful, so careful, your touch feather-light, because this is the part you love and hate in equal measure. Love because he trusts you enough to sit here with his eyes closed and his guard down and let you take care of him. Hate because it means washing away the evidence of the thing he just did, the thing he does every time he steps on that stage, the thing that makes thousands of people scream his name and reaches millions more through screens and speakers.
You wipe away the glitter and the gloss and the careful, constructed artifice, and underneath it all is just your boyfriend, tired, sweet, and so beautiful it makes your teeth hurt.
"There," you say softly, setting the used pad on the nightstand. "All done."
He opens his eyes. Slowly, like he's waking from a dream, and the first thing they land on is you, and the smile that spreads across his face is small and private and so genuinely happy that it knocks the air out of your lungs every single time.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi, yourself." You brush a stray strand of hair from his forehead, and he catches your hand and presses a kiss to your palm, his lips warm and dry.
"Thank you for doing this."
"It's just makeup removal, Sunoo."
"It's not just that." He turns his head, still holding your hand, and kisses the inside of your wrist, right where your pulse is hammering. "It's you. Taking care of me. Letting me come here. Being my place to go."
Your heart does something complicated and enormous in your chest, and you have to take a breath before you can respond.
"You're always my place to go too, you know that."
"Yeah." His thumb strokes across your knuckles. "I know."
You sit with that for a moment, the quiet warmth of it, and then you pull back and give him a look. A gentle, practical look, the one you give him when you're about to say something he's not going to like.
"You know," you start, and he immediately narrows his eyes because he knows that tone. "You should take a shower right now. You're still sweaty and there's probably product residue all over you and you'll break out if you sleep like this."
He considers this for a moment, tilting his head, and then a slow, mischievous smile curves across his lips.
"Okay," he says. "Do you want to join me?"
A beat.
"I just showered like three hours ago."
"I'm not buying it."
"It's true! I showered right before you got here. I'm clean."
"Three hours ago," he repeats, and the grin is fully in place now, that devastating, playful, absolutely unhinged grin that he deploys when he's decided he's going to get his way and nothing in the universe is going to stop him. "That's three hours of just, like, existing. Walking around. Sitting on this bed. More dirt has probably accumulated on you in that time. You're basically a biohazard."
"A biohazard. Three hours after a shower? Crazy."
"Think about it. The air alone has particles. Dust. Microscopic things landing on your skin every second. You think water from three hours ago is still protecting you? That's not how it works."
"Sunoo."
"And another thing. Whatever soap you use only kills 99.9% of germs. Not 100%. That means 0.1% of germs survive every wash. Over three hours, those germs have been multiplying. You could be carrying entire civilizations on your arms right now and you wouldn't even know."
"Entire civilizations."
"I'm just saying. For your health."
"You're ridiculous."
"I'm thorough. There's a difference." He's sitting up straighter now, his exhaustion momentarily eclipsed by the gleam in his eyes, and he reaches out and takes your hands in his, tugging you closer. "Please? I haven't seen you in two weeks. I want to be with you. Just... be with you. Is that so bad?"
And honestly, who were you to say no to him?
This was the same guy that thousands, millions of girls thirsted over on a daily basis.
The same guy whose aegyo clips went viral every other week, whose smile could light up an entire arena, whose voice made people cry on stages across the world.
The same guy who was currently sitting on your bed at nearly midnight, pouting up at you with those big, bright eyes, asking you to take a bath with him because he missed you.
"Yeah, okay," you say, and the smile that breaks across his face is worth every germ you're apparently carrying.
"Really?"
"Don't make me change my mind."
He releases your hands and falls back against the mattress with a dramatic, happy sigh, arms spread, starfished across your bed like he owns it, and you roll your eyes and drag yourself up and head toward the built-in bathroom in your room.
Behind you, you hear him shifting on the sheets, making himself comfortable, probably scrolling through his phone, probably texting the group chat something like "at my sister's, goodnight!!" and you smile to yourself at the deception of it all.
The bathroom is small but nice, the way everything in your place is small but nice, a product of living alone in a gated neighborhood where the rent is high and the square footage is modest but the peace of mind is worth every penny.
You turn on the water in the tub, adjusting the temperature, testing it with your wrist, waiting for the steam to start rising.
The tub fills slowly, the sound of running water filling the small space, fogging up the mirror above the sink, and you're leaning over the edge checking the temperature when you hear the door open and close behind you, followed by the soft click of the lock.
You turn around.
Sunoo is standing there, right behind you, and the lock clicking into place sends a small, electric jolt down your spine. He doesn't say anything at first. He just steps forward and wraps his arms around you from behind, his chin hooking over your shoulder, his chest pressing against your back, and you can feel the warmth of him, the solid reality of his body against yours, the way his breath fans across your shoulder where his face is pressed.
"Hi again," he mumbles into your skin.
"Hi. Did you lock the door?"
"Mhm."
"We're the only ones here."
"Force of habit." He squeezes you tighter, and you feel his lips curve into a smile against your shoulder. "Also, what if your roommate comes home?"
"I don't have a roommate."
"What if you get one? In the next thirty minutes? A really inconvenient one who doesn't knock?"
"You're so weird."
"You like it."
You do. God, you really do.
You stand there for a moment, wrapped in him, watching the tub fill, the steam curling in the air between you and the mirror, and his hands are resting on your stomach, his fingers playing absently with the hem of your shirt, tugging it up just a fraction, just enough that you can feel the pads of his fingers against the bare skin underneath.
"Water's almost ready," you say.
"Mmm." He doesn't move.
"Sunoo."
"Yes?"
"You're the one who wanted to shower."
"Right. Yeah." He makes zero effort to release you. If anything, his arms tighten, his face burrowing deeper into the curve of your neck, and you feel his lips there, warm and soft, pressing a kiss to the spot just below your ear that he knows makes you shiver. "In a minute. Just... let me hold you a little more."
Your chest aches with how much you love him.
"Okay," you whisper. "A little more."
He holds you until the tub is nearly full and you have to reach over and turn off the water, and even then he only lets go reluctantly, his hands sliding off your waist like it physically pains him to stop touching you. You turn around to face him, and the look in his eyes is soft and warm and a little bit hungry, and the combination of all three makes your stomach flip.
He reaches for the hem of his shirt.
You've seen him undress before. You've seen him in every state of undress, from fully stage-ready to nothing at all, and it shouldn't make your breath catch anymore but it does, every single time, because Sunoo out of his stage clothes is a different kind of performance and you are the only audience member who gets to watch.
He shrugs the shirt off his shoulders and it falls to the floor in a soft heap, and his skin is golden, smooth, and still faintly damp with the remnants of sweat, the defined lines of his chest and stomach on display in the steamy, low light of the bathroom.
His hands go to his pants next, unbuttoning them, pushing them down his thighs, stepping out of them, and that's when you see them.
The black Calvin Klein boxers. Snug around his hips, the waistband sitting low, the elastic lettering stark against his skin, the fabric doing absolutely nothing to hide the shape of him underneath.
You look. You can't help it. Your eyes drag down his torso, and you catch a glimpse of the outline of him, thick and warm and resting heavy against his thigh, and heat floods your face so fast you're sure you're the color of a tomato.
He notices.
Damn it.
Of course he notices.
Sunoo notices everything. His eyes flick to your face, catching the way your gaze dropped, the way your lips parted, the flush creeping up your neck, and the corner of his mouth twitches but he doesn't say anything. He just looks at you, and there's something dark and knowing in his eyes, something that says I saw that, and the silence is worse than if he'd said something out loud.
You clear your throat. "Your turn to, um. Wait, no. My turn to undress. Or. Whatever."
"Smooth." He's grinning now, and you want to kiss it off his face.
"Shut the hell up."
"Never in a billion years, cutie."
You don't rise to the bait, because you know that's what he wants, and if you start now you'll never make it into the tub. Instead, you reach for the hem of your own shirt, but his hands get there first.
"Let me," he says, and his voice has dropped, gone softer, and the playfulness is still there but it's layered over something more serious now, something reverent.
He lifts your shirt slowly, his fingertips skimming along your sides as the fabric rises, and you lift your arms and let him pull it over your head. The steam hits your bare skin immediately, warm and damp, and goosebumps rise anyway, because his fingers are still tracing along your ribcage, light as a whisper, and every nerve ending in your body is standing at attention.
He unclasps your bra next, his fingers working the hooks with a practiced ease that makes something warm and possessive curl in your stomach, and it slides down your arms and joins the growing pile of clothes on the floor.
Then his thumbs hook into the waistband of your pajama shorts, and he kneels, looking up at you with those big, dark eyes, and drags them down your legs along with your underwear, his fingers trailing down your thighs, your knees, your calves, until you step out of them and you're standing in front of him in nothing at all.
He's still kneeling.
And he looks up at you.
The look on his face is something you will never, for the rest of your life, be able to adequately describe.
It's not lust, exactly, though that's there too, a dark heat in his eyes that makes your skin prickle. It's not just admiration, though there's that as well, the way his gaze moves over your body like he's committing every curve and line to memory. It's something deeper. Something like awe. Something like worship.
He rises to his feet slowly, and his hands find your waist, steadying you, and he leans in and presses a kiss to your collarbone. Then another, slightly higher, at the base of your throat. Then another, on the side of your neck, and another on the curve below your ear, and another on your cheek, soft and warm and achingly tender, and when he pulls back just enough to look at you, his lips are so close to yours that you can feel the breath of his words on your skin.
"You are so beautiful."
Four words. Four stupid, simple, devastating words, and the heat that pools between your thighs is so sudden and so intense that you have to squeeze your legs together, your body responding to him on a level that has nothing to do with thought and everything to do with something deeper, something primal, something that has been building since the moment he walked through your door.
His hands tighten on your waist. He felt that. Felt the way your body swayed toward his, the way your breath caught, the way your skin flushed beneath his fingers.
"Sunoo," you breathe, and it comes out way needier than you intended.
He smiles. That soft, secret, devastating smile.
He removes his boxers. Quick, efficient, no ceremony, just the fabric sliding down his legs and then he's bare in front of you, his cock half-hard, thick and flushed against his thigh, and you don't have time to look because he's already stepping toward the tub, swinging one leg over the edge and sinking into the hot water with a groan that reverberates off the tile walls and straight into your chest.
"Goodness, that feels good," he sighs, settling back against the sloped end of the tub, the water coming up to his chest, lapping at his shoulders. Steam rises around him, catching the light, and he looks like something out of a painting, golden and flushed and beautiful. He lifts a hand and pats his lap, the water splashing gently with the movement. "Come here."
You step into the tub carefully, the water hot but not scalding, the perfect temperature, and you settle onto his lap as gracefully as you can manage, which is not very gracefully at all, your legs bracketing his hips, your back against his chest, your body awkward and floaty in the water as you try to find a position that doesn't involve you sliding off him or crushing his legs.
He laughs, soft and warm, and his hands find your hips, steadying you, pulling you back against him, and you feel his cock, half-hard and warm, pressing against your lower back.
"Relax," he murmurs against your ear, his lips brushing the shell of it. "I've got you."
You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, and your body goes loose against him, your head tipping back to rest on his shoulder, the hot water and the steam and the solid warmth of his body underneath you combining into something so deeply, overwhelmingly soothing that you could fall asleep right here.
"See?" His arms wrap around your middle, his chin hooking over your shoulder. "Isn't this better than showering alone?"
"I never said I wanted to shower alone."
"You implied it."
"No, the fuck? I did not."
"You said, and I quote, 'I just showered three hours ago.'"
"That's stating a fact, not implying anything."
"Mhm. A fact that was clearly a defense mechanism because you didn't want to admit you wanted to see me naked."
You swat at his arm, and he catches your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles one by one, and you feel his smile against your skin.
"You're impossible," you tell him.
"You like it," he says, for the second time tonight, and he's right, and you both know it, and the worst part is he knows you know he knows it, which is just insufferable.
For a while, you just sit. The water laps gently at your bodies, the steam rises, the bathroom is warm and close and dim, and his hands rest on your stomach, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on your skin underneath the water.
Your eyes drift closed.
His breathing is slow and even against your ear.
It's peaceful.
It's so, so peaceful.
Then his hands start to wander.
It's subtle at first. The lazy circles on your stomach migrating upward, his fingertips grazing the underside of your breast, then retreating, then coming back, a little higher, a little more deliberate each time. You feel your breath catch, feel the way your body tenses and then forces itself to relax, and you know he can feel it too, because you feel the curve of his smile against your shoulder.
"Sunoo."
"Hmm?"
"Your hands."
"What about them?"
"They're wandering."
"They're exploring. There's a difference." His palms slide up, cupping your breasts under the water, and the warmth of his hands combined with the warmth of the water and the cool prickle of the air on your exposed shoulders is a sensory overload that makes you arch into his touch, your nipples hardening against his palms. "There we go," he murmurs, and his voice has dropped into that lower register, the one that makes your stomach tighten and your thighs press together. "See? Your body wants me to touch you. Who am I to argue?"
"You're insufferable."
"And you're gorgeous." His thumbs find your nipples, circling them slowly, pressing, rolling, and the sparks of sensation shoot down your spine and straight between your legs, and you bite your lip to keep from making a sound that would only encourage him. "And you're biting your lip right now because you're trying not to moan and that's the hottest thing I've ever seen."
You release your lip. He laughs, low and warm, and his thumbs keep moving, keep circling, keep pressing, and his mouth finds the side of your neck and presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss there, his tongue dragging across your pulse point, and the combination of his hands on your breasts and his mouth on your neck is too much, it's too much, and a soft, breathy moan slips out before you can stop it.
"There she is," he whispers against your skin, and you can hear the smile in his voice, the dark, hungry edge of it. "My girl."
Dating an idol meant seeing his fans go absolutely bat shit crazy over him, and his whole group rather.
You'd be on your burner account at two in the morning, scrolling through posts where fans rated the members by freak level, making elaborate tier lists with screenshots and video evidence and increasingly unhinged commentary, and Sunoo would always, always be placed last. Dead last. Bottom of the barrel. The sweet one, the innocent one, the one who blushed at the mere suggestion of anything remotely suggestive. The one who covered his face during the sexy choreography moments. The one who looked like he'd never so much as held a girl's hand, let alone done anything else.
And in reality, he was a freak.
Everyone in his group was a freak, honestly, that was just what happened when you put seven twenty-something-year-olds in high-pressure situations with impossible schedules and no time for normal relationships. They were all dealing with it in their own ways. But Sunoo didn't show it so much, or at least he didn't show it the way the others did, the way that made fans notice and clip and analyze. He kept it contained, controlled, channeled it into performances and variety show appearances and that megawatt smile that could power a small city. He kept it under wraps, and the world bought it, hook, line, and sinker.
But you knew better.
You knew that the same hands that fans gushed over for being so delicate and pretty, the same fingers that pressed against his cheek during aegyo, the same palms that waved at cameras with practiced sweetness, were the same hands that currently had your breasts in their grip, thumbs working your nipples with a precision and intensity that spoke to hours of practice, a dedication to your pleasure that bordered on obsessive.
Kim Sunoo was a fucking freak, and his freak was your pleasure over anything else, always had been, and the thought of all those fans getting it so spectacularly wrong while you were the only one who knew the truth was honestly kind of hot.
He was a cutie pie to say the least.
But he was sinfully hot too.
One hand leaves your breast, and you're about to protest, but then you feel it traveling downward, his fingers trailing over the plane of your stomach, dipping below the water, tracing along the crease of your thigh, and your breath stutters in your chest.
"May I?" he asks, and his voice is soft against your ear, gentle, asking permission even though his hand is already hovering right there, right at the apex of your thighs, and the anticipation is killing you.
"Yes," you whisper, and his fingers slide between your legs.
The first touch is electric.
His fingertips glide through your slick, swollen flesh, and the sound you make is embarrassing, a sharp, needy gasp that echoes off the bathroom tiles, but you can't bring yourself to care because his fingers are right there, right where you need them, and the relief and the pleasure are so immediate that your head drops back against his shoulder and your eyes flutter shut.
"So wet already," he murmurs, and there's wonder in his voice, genuine wonder, like he still can't quite believe the effect he has on you even after all this time. His fingers explore you slowly, dragging through your arousal, spreading it, circling your entrance, brushing against your clit with a feather-light touch that makes your hips jerk. "Baby, you're dripping. I've barely touched you."
"You've been touching me for ten minutes," you manage, and your voice comes out shaky and thin.
"Is that a complaint?"
"No."
"That’s neat." His middle finger slides inside you, slow and deliberate, and the stretch of it, the intrusion, the way your walls clench around him like they're trying to pull him deeper, makes you both groan, his sound muffled against your neck, yours echoing off the tile. "God, you're so tight. So warm and tight and perfect and just—fuck. Feel that? Feel how good you take my finger?"
"Fuck yes," you breathe, and then his ring finger joins, two fingers sliding into you, stretching you open, and you whimper, your hand flying back to grip his hair, your fingers tangling in the damp strands.
"That's it," he says, and his voice is low and rough and so impossibly filthy that it makes your walls clench around his fingers. "Take it, baby. Let me feel you. Let me make you feel good."
He starts to move. Slowly at first, a steady, deep rhythm, his fingers curling inside you on every stroke, pressing against that spot that makes your vision white out at the edges, and his other hand is still on your breast, kneading, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
The sensation is too much, everything at once, and the sounds you're making are getting louder and needier and you can't bring yourself to care about the echoes or the thin walls or anything except his fingers inside you, his hand on your breast, and his mouth hot against your neck.
"Clench around me," he moans into your ear, and his voice breaks on the words, rough and desperate and filthy, and your body obeys before your mind can process the command, your walls clamping down around his fingers so hard he groans, a deep, guttural sound that vibrates through his chest and into your back. "Yes, just like that, good girl, you're doing so good, you feel so fucking good around my fingers, baby."
His fingers speed up, thrusting deeper, harder, the obscene sound of them moving inside you barely muffled by the bathwater, and you're shaking, your thighs trembling on either side of his, your hand gripping his hair so tight it must hurt but he doesn't complain, he just groans against your neck and fucks you harder with his fingers and rolls your nipple between his fingers and whispers filthy, devastating things into your ear.
"My sweet girl," he breathes, and the petname lands somewhere deep in your chest and blooms warm and desperate. "My pretty, perfect girl. You're so beautiful when you're falling apart for me. You know that? You're so damn beautiful and you're all mine."
"Of course—all—shit—yours—ugh," you echo, and the words come out broken, fragmented, barely more than a moan.
"That's right." His thumb finds your clit and presses, circling in tight, firm movements while his fingers continue their relentless rhythm inside you, and the combined sensation is a freight train bearing down on you, the orgasm building fast and hard and unstoppable. "You're mine, angel. Mine to touch, mine to taste, mine to take apart and put back together. And no one else will ever know how pretty you sound when you're about to come on my fingers."
"Sunoo, I'm, I'm close, I'm—"
"I know, baby. I can feel you. You're squeezing me so tight. Come for me. Come on my fingers like a good girl."
You come with his name torn from your throat, your back arching off his chest, your walls clamping down around his fingers in pulsing, rhythmic waves that make him curse under his breath, and he works you through it, his fingers never stopping, his thumb still circling your clit, his mouth pressing hot kisses along the line of your neck and shoulder, and the orgasm rolls through you in long, shuddering waves that leave you trembling and boneless against him.
When the aftershocks finally ebb, he slides his fingers out of you slowly, and you whimper at the loss, at the empty feeling, at the way your walls clench around nothing.
He brings his fingers up out of the water, and you can see the slick sheen of your arousal on them, and he brings them to his lips and licks them clean with a deliberate swipe of his tongue that makes heat pool in your stomach all over again.
"Sweet," he murmurs, and his eyes meet yours, dark and hot. "Always so sweet."
You turn around in his lap, shifting in the water until you're facing him, your knees on either side of his hips, your hands on his shoulders, and you can feel him beneath you, hard and thick and pressing against your stomach, and you reach down without thinking and wrap your hand around him.
He hisses, his head tipping back, his eyes squeezing shut, and the sound of it, the raw, unguarded need, sends a sharp pulse of heat straight to your core.
You start to move your hand, stroking him slowly, feeling the weight and heat of him in your palm, the way he twitches and pulses against your fingers, the way water and slick make everything slide so easy and smooth.
"Baby," he gasps, and his hands find your waist, gripping hard. "You don't have to—"
"I want to." You stroke him slower, twisting your wrist on the upstroke, your thumb circling the head, and he makes a sound that's somewhere between a moan and a sob and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever heard. "Let me take care of you too."
His forehead drops to your shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, and you work him slowly, deliberately, your hand moving in a steady, tight rhythm while the water laps around you both. He's thick and hard and so hot in your hand, and every stroke draws a sound from him, little broken gasps and low, desperate moans that you want to record and keep forever.
"Feels so good," he whimpers against your shoulder, and the vulnerability in his voice, the way he lets himself be needy with you, the way he doesn't hold back, makes something crack open in your chest. "Your hand feels so fucking good, baby, I've been thinking about this all day, about you, about your hands on me, about—fuck—about the way you look at me when I'm falling apart—"
"Look at me," you say softly, and he lifts his head, and his eyes are glassy and dark and so full of love and want that it steals your breath.
"Hi," he whispers.
"Hello." You stroke him once more, firm and slow, from base to tip, and he shudders, his jaw clenching. "You want to be inside me?"
"Fuck yes please," he breathes, and there's no hesitation, no coy deflection, just raw, honest need. "Please. I need you. I need to feel you."
You lift your hips, positioning him at your entrance, and you sink down onto him in one slow, devastating movement.
The stretch is overwhelming.
He's thick, thicker than his fingers, and your body is still sensitive from your first orgasm, every nerve ending alight, and you feel every inch of him as you take him in, feel the way your walls stretch and yield and grip him like they never want to let go.
He groans, long and broken, his head falling back against the edge of the tub, his hands gripping your waist so hard.
"Princess," he chokes out, and his voice is wrecked, barely recognizable. "God, you feel—you're so tight, you're so warm, I—fuck—"
You bottom out and still, letting yourself adjust, letting the fullness of him settle into your body, and his hands are shaking on your waist, his chest heaving, his eyes squeezed shut, and you can tell he's using every ounce of self-control he has not to thrust up into you.
"Open your eyes," you say gently.
He does. And the look in them, the raw, open, desperate love, makes your heart clench so hard it physically hurts.
"Hey," you whisper.
"Hey." He smiles, and it's wobbly and soft and so genuinely happy that you have to lean down and kiss him.
You start to move. Slow, rolling movements of your hips, grinding down onto him, feeling him shift inside you, feeling the head of his cock drag against that spot that makes your breath catch. The water moves with you, sloshing gently against the sides of the tub, and the sound of it mixes with the sounds you're both making, soft moans and sharp gasps and the wet, slick noise of your bodies joining.
"You feel so good," he murmurs against your lips, and his hands slide up your sides, cupping your breasts again, thumbs finding your nipples, and you whimper into his mouth and clench around him and he groans. "Doll, you're killing me. You're so perfect. So fucking perfect for me."
"Sunoo—"
"I love you," he says, and he says it like a confession, like it's the most important thing he's ever said and he needs you to know it right now, in this moment, while he's inside you and your bodies are moving together, the steam is rising around you, and the world outside this bathroom doesn't exist. "I love you so much. You know that, right? You're everything. You're everything to me."
"I know," you whisper back, and your voice cracks on it, because you do know, you've always known, and the knowing is so big and so terrifying and so wonderful that sometimes you don't know what to do with it. "I love you more."
He kisses you again, deeper, hungrier, his tongue sliding against yours, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements, and you ride him in the warm, steamy water, your bodies finding a rhythm that's slow and deep and so full of feeling that it borders on overwhelming.
After a while, his hands still on your hips, and he pulls back from the kiss, his breathing ragged.
"Turn around," he says, and his voice is low, rough. "Let me—I want to—"
You understand.
You lift yourself off him, the loss of him inside you making you both hiss, and you shift in the tub, turning around, and he guides you forward until your hands are braced against the wall of the tub, the cool tile meeting your palms, and you feel him behind you, his body pressing against your back, his cock hot and hard against your ass.
"Is this okay?" he asks, and even now, even in this moment, he checks, he always checks, and the tenderness of it makes your eyes sting.
"Yes," you breathe. "Please."
He slides into you from behind, and the new angle is deeper, different, hitting places inside you that make you gasp and grip the tile harder, and his chest is pressed against your back, his lips at your shoulder, his hands on your hips as he starts to move.
The rhythm he sets is slow at first, deep and grinding, each thrust pressing you against the cool tile wall of the bathroom, and the contrast of his hot body behind you and the cold surface in front of you and the warm water around your legs is sensory overload in the best possible way.
His mouth finds the back of your neck, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses against your skin, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder, and you moan, loud and shameless, the sound bouncing off the tile and filling the small room.
"Good girl," he groans against your skin, and the petname in this position, in this voice, makes your walls clench around him so hard he stutters. "My good girl. Taking me so well. You feel so perfect around me, baby. So fucking perfect."
He speeds up, his hips snapping forward harder, and the sound of skin meeting skin is wet and sharp and obscene, the water churning around you with every thrust, and his hand comes around to your front, his fingers finding your clit, circling it with a firm, deliberate pressure while his other hand grips your hip, pulling you back onto him with every stroke.
"Sunoo—oh my god—"
"That's it, angel. Let me hear you. Let me hear how good I make you feel."
"I'm close again, I'm—you're gonna make me—"
"Come for me, princess. Come on my cock. I want to feel you."
And you do.
The orgasm crashes through you harder than the first one, deeper, your entire body shaking, your walls clenching around him in waves that pull him over the edge right after you.
He buries himself deep with a broken moan of your name, his forehead pressed against your shoulder, his hips jerking in short, erratic thrusts as he comes inside you, hot and thick and so much, and you can feel it, feel the warmth of him filling you up, and the sensation triggers another small, shuddering wave of pleasure that makes you both whimper.
You stay like that for a long moment, his chest against your back, his arms wrapped around your middle, his cock softening inside you, the water lapping gently at your bodies.
His breath is warm and slow against your shoulder, and you can feel his heartbeat, feel it gradually slowing from its frantic pace to something calmer, steadier, and you close your eyes and lean back into him and just breathe.
"Hey," he says eventually, his voice soft and hoarse.
"Hello."
"Are you okay?"
"Yep. More than okay."
He presses a kiss to your shoulder, then another to the back of your neck, and he pulls out of you slowly, carefully, and you both wince at the sensitivity. He turns you around gently, his hands on your waist, and he looks at you with those big, bright, post-orgasm eyes that are half-closed and hazy and so full of love that it makes your stomach do a flip.
"Hi," he says again, and he's smiling, that soft, dopey, completely blissed-out smile that you've only ever seen in moments like this, and you laugh and cup his face in your hands and kiss him, soft and slow and tasting like nothing and everything.
"Come on," you murmur against his lips. "Let's actually get clean."
He groans, but it's a happy groan, and he lets you reach for the body wash on the edge of the tub.
You squeeze some into your palm and work it into a lather, and then you start to wash him, your hands moving over his shoulders and chest and arms, tracing the lines of his muscles, the dips and curves of his body, and he watches you with that soft, wondering expression like he still can't quite believe this is real.
You wash his hair next, your fingers massaging his scalp, and he practically melts, his eyes closing, his head tipping back, a low, contented hum rumbling in his throat.
You take your time with it, working the shampoo through the strands, rinsing it out with cupped handfuls of water, and when you're done, his hair is soft and clean and falling across his forehead in a way that makes him look so boyish and pretty that you have to resist the urge to kiss him again.
His turn now, and he's gentler than you expected, given how desperate he was earlier.
His hands move over your body with a reverence that borders on worship, soaping your shoulders and back and stomach, his touch careful and thorough and achingly tender.
He washes your hair too, his fingers working through the strands with a patience that makes your eyes sting, and when he rinses the shampoo out, he presses a kiss to your wet forehead and whispers, "My beautiful girl."
By the time you're both clean, the water has gone lukewarm, and you drain the tub and step out onto the bath mat, reaching for towels. He takes one and wraps it around your shoulders, then grabs another for himself, and you stand there in the steamy bathroom, damp and flushed and so deeply, ridiculously happy that it feels almost illegal.
He takes your hand and leads you back to the bedroom, and you both tumble onto the sheets, still slightly damp, the cool air making you shiver, and he pulls the blanket up over both of you and tucks you against his side, your head on his chest, his arm around your shoulders, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm.
"Your skin smells like my body wash," he says after a moment, and there's a note of satisfaction in his voice that makes you laugh.
"Whose fault is that?"
"I'm not complaining." He presses a kiss to the top of your head, and his arm tightens around you. "I like it. You know—you, like—smelling like me. Like you're mine."
"I am yours."
"Yeah." You can hear the smile in his voice, feel it in the way his chest rises and falls with a deep, contented breath. "Yep, you are."
The room is quiet around you, the only sounds the distant hum of the air conditioning and the soft rhythm of his breathing and the occasional car passing outside, so far away it might as well be another world.
His heartbeat is steady under your ear, a slow, calming drumbeat that lulls you toward sleep, and his fingers are still tracing those lazy, absent patterns on your arm, like he needs to keep touching you even now, even in the quiet, even when there's nothing left to prove.
"Sunoo," you murmur, half-asleep already.
"Hmm?"
"Your mom's birthday."
A pause. Then a quiet, sheepish laugh. "I'll call her first thing in the morning. She'll understand."
"Will she?"
"She loves you. She'd want me here."
"You don't know that."
"I do, actually. She told me." He shifts, tilting his head to look down at you, and there's so much warmth in his eyes, so much quiet certainty, that you almost can't look at it directly, like staring at the sun. "She said, and I quote, 'stop being stubborn and go see that girl, you've been moping for two weeks.' So what? She’ll get mad at that?"
"You were moping?"
"I was severely moping. It was tragic. The members staged an intervention."
"Oh my god."
"Jungwon made a PowerPoint. It had pie charts."
You laugh so hard your body shakes against his, and he grins and pulls you closer, and the sound of your laughter mixes with the sound of his and fills the room with something bright and warm and so completely, impossibly good.
When the laughter fades, you settle back against him, and the silence returns, comfortable and full, and his hand comes up to cup the back of your head, his fingers threading through your damp hair.
"Go to sleep," he murmurs. "I'll be here when you wake up."
"Promise?"
"Pinky promise." He kisses your forehead, long and lingering, and his lips are warm and soft and familiar. "Always."
You close your eyes, and his heartbeat is the last thing you hear before sleep pulls you under, steady and sure, and the last thought you have before everything goes soft and dark and quiet is that you are the luckiest person in the entire world, and that Sunoo, with his stage makeup stripped away and his stage presence folded up and stored somewhere for tomorrow, is just a boy in your bed who loves you, and that's the most precious thing you'll ever have.
Outside, the city sleeps too, indifferent and unaware that somewhere behind the gates and the hedges and the locked doors, an idol is holding his secret close and falling asleep with her heartbeat against his chest, and neither of you would trade it for anything.
⭐️ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
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💿 ࿐ . . best part by daniel caesar
✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !
synopsis: heeseung was always the freak, always the dominant one in sex. but when you saw his new playboy boxers peaking through his clothes? oh boy, you went absolutely feral.
warnings: smut, reader is kinda dominant (??), heeseung gets dominant later, blowjob, orgasm denial, riding, unprotected sex (don't do this!!), breast stimulation, heeseung eventually shoves his boxers into reader's mouth, just pure filth tbh. minors do not interact.
author's notes: I got this request all the way back to february, right after I posted about heeseung wearing the playboy underwear. and I put it aside for a while before march 10 and everything happened. I couldn't even look at the draft, I was running from it like it was the plague. but it's here now, and I hope you guys like it. kisses!
tonight was just a movie night. you and heeseung chilling in his apartment, watching a movie in his comfy couch, his arm around you as you both ate popcorn.
you were just laying your head on his shoulder, satisfied. you heard your phone buzz, on the left of the couch. sighing, you move to check the message.
"who is it, baby?" heeseung asks calmly, eyes still on the movie.
you turn your phone off. "just yunjin texting me about some guy she-"
you stop on your tracks when your eyes look down.
'playboy' with the logo beside it, peaking out of his sweatpants. new boxers, definitely. holy fucking shit.
heeseung frowned. "doll?" he looked at you, frowning even more when he saw your eyes stuck down somewhere. he looked down, about to ask if it was some kind of bug.
"hee... when did you buy these?" you ask lowly. slowly. your fingers ran on top of the edge gently.
he frowned even more before he realized you were talking about the boxers. "oh, I think last week. I read somewhere they were more comfortable, and they really are, so-"
you shut him up as you kissed him, going to his lap. the kiss was desperate, one of your hands still on his hip and the other on his neck now.
heeseung was caught off-guard, placing his hands on your hips as he kissed you back. "doll- doll, what-" you didn't let him speak, sucking on his tongue, getting a moan off him.
you pulled back to kiss down his neck, rubbing your hips against his. "d-doll... fuck- why are you so horny?" he asked, breathless as you marked his neck.
you left a hickey and pulled back to look at him. "these fucking boxers. gosh, you look so damn hot." you kissed him again, making him groan.
you could feel him getting hard as you kept rubbing. you pulled back from the kiss to pull his shirt off him, which he did without a second thought. you saw the edge of his boxers and almost moaned. fuck, he looked amazing.
you started to kiss on his collarbone, still moving your hips against his. he groaned again. "goddamn it- oh, baby... when did you get so freaky?" he smirked down at you.
you looked up. "the moment I saw you with these boxers." you kneeled down between his legs. oh, that was a sight he could never get tired of.
you slowly pulled his sweatpants down, only the boxers on him now. he was hard, a wet spot on the material where his tip is. you palmed him slowly, making a weak groan get out of him. "oh, doll... gosh-"
you just pulled his hard dick out of the boxers, not bothering to take them off yet. you fisted his dick slowly, letting the precum run through your hand, getting a low groan from heeseung. you licked his cock after, going from the base to the tip, teasing him. he only moaned, hands gripping the couch. "come on baby- just please, suck me already..." he muttered.
you smirked before shoving it all inside your mouth at once, the tip hitting your throat, making your vision blur. heeseung moaned, head leaning back against the couch, eyes closing.
his hand grabbed your hair as your head went up and down, mouth sucking his cock just the way he liked it. heeseung was in heaven, groaning at the feeling, your mouth driving him crazy.
you took it off your mouth to lick the tip and go back down, the sounds wet and nasty. he was loving it.
when heeseung tightened his grip on your hair, you knew he was close. you kept sucking him, spit and precum running down your chin. but just as he was about to get close, you pulled out, catching your breath.
he immediately opened his eyes to look down at you, his cock hard and red. "b-baby, I was about to-"
you smirked, wiping your chin with the back of your hand. "you will cum inside me when I ride you, understood?" you asked as you got up. heeseung immediately went silent, your tone making him almost explode just there.
you made it torturous, taking your shirt off first, slowly. the image of your boobs, just there, in front of him, it made heeseung want to just pull you down and suck on them. but he stayed put.
you slowly took your shorts after, your black panties covering the pussy he wanted oh so bad to see. it had enough sheerness for him to see, but not enough for him to *see*.
you chuckled before taking the panties off and sitting on his lap. "you look hungry." you teased.
he gripped your hips before running his hands up and down your thighs. "starving for you, mama. please... I need to cum." he looked up at you, those shiny eyes you couldn't say 'no' to.
you smirked. "since you asked nicely..." you positioned yourself before lowering down on him. heeseung moaned, grip tightening on your hips as he bottomed out inside you. you leaned your head back, moaning.
he felt you start to move your hips back and forth, making him lose his mind. he took your left boob on his mouth, sucking on it, bitting, kissing, licking. you held onto his hair, going up and down on his cock now.
"hee- fuck, oh my-" his big cock inside you felt so good.
he chuckled against your boob. "feel good, babydoll? yeah, bounce on that dick. it's yours baby." he said before sucking on your nipple. his hands went to your ass, squeezing as he helped your movements on his lap.
you knew he was close, the way he was thrusting up into you, his small groans. it took barely 5 minutes before he held your hips still, cumming deep into your pussy, moaning against your shoulder.
you barely registered the orgasm before he threw you on the couch, stomach up. he was breathing heavily, slightly sweaty, looking frustrated.
"you thought you could refuse me like that and not get out absolutely wrecked?" he asked lowly, taking his sweatpants off together with his playboy boxers, eyes burning with lust and danger.
he suddenly had an idea and took his boxers back up from the floor, eyes dark. "you like my boxers, huh? be a good girl and open that mouth for me." he commanded lowly. you opened your mouth without a single thought before he shoved his boxers into your mouth.
he climbed over you, settling between his legs before shoving his dick inside you again. you moaned, the sound muffled by his boxers. his pace already started fast, making you roll your eyes back to your head, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders. his grip on your hips was tight as he pounded into you, moaning as well.
heeseung leaned down, taking your right boob into his mouth, sucking hard on the nipple before swirling his tongue around it. you moaned louder around the boxers on your mouth, clenching around him. he chuckled against your tit and took his hand down between your legs, pressing his thumb to your clit and rubbing fast. you rolled your eyes in pure pleasure, mind going a little blurry. it all felt so good with him.
it barely registered before you came around him, moaning loud around the boxers, thighs shaking. heeseung moaned, satisfied, thumb leaving your clit so he could take hold of your hip again.
a few thrusts later, he came inside you again, both of you moaning. he took the boxers off your mouth, making you breath heavily. "is my babydoll okay?"
you nodded, breathless. "yeah..." you let out, staring up at him.
he smirked. "you really like my new boxers, huh?" he leaned down to press a kiss to your shoulder. you nodded a bit.
hesseung chuckled lowly against your skin. "good. wanna make sure I fuck you so hard tonight they'll be all you remember." he said and flipped you over, making you lay on your stomach, shoving his dick inside you again.
taglist: @sxno0 @ikeumiu @arelyvn @pussiifairy @supahintohoon @foreveronez @shinaerie @nishiirkz @supahintohoon @hyyhwriter (idk who else to tag guys I'm sorry im kinda sleep deprived lol)
🗯️ 内容 explicit sexual content ♫ 18+ ⸝⸝ intended for mature audiences | minors do not interact ᯓ established relationship, emotional vulnerability, teasing, heavy kissing, cosplay themes, petnames, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, degradation kink, praise kink, breeding kink, daddy kink, creampie !
໑ part 1 | part 2
EL’S ✷ BUBBLE : ouuhh shi is that .... mask girl part 2 !!?! goodness this took me a whole ass year and i thought this would be one of the last few things i'd finish but damn this is literally just 6.4k words of smut (i'm sorry this shit was nasty asl 🥀 mbmb) . . . (´。＿。｀) this request, thank you so muchi ! on my life the other ones won't be super half-assed ! :b
It had been a year and a half since you impulsively fucked your neighbor.
Let's rewind.
Park Sunghoon, unit 109. You, unit 110. He'd been living there longer than you, had the place before you even moved in, had been a fixture of the hallway and the elevator and the building's quiet ecosystem since well before you became a part of it.
Your apartment was bigger by a bit, and you had a balcony, and so did he, and for about a year that was the extent of what you knew about each other, parallel lives separated by one wall, coexisting in the same building without ever really intersecting.
You'd run into each other, of course.
That was inevitable.
The elevator, always the elevator, because there was only one and it was slow and you'd both developed the habit of timing your commutes to avoid waiting, which meant you ended up waiting together more often than not, standing in silence with your coffee and your headphones and the unspoken acknowledgment that you recognized each other but hadn't progressed past nodding. The laundry room in the basement, where you'd once spent twenty minutes folding clothes across from each other and he'd held the door open for you when you were struggling with an overstuffed basket and you'd said thanks and he'd said of course and that was the most conversation you'd ever had. The cafe downstairs in the complex, the little one with the good matcha and the barista who always spelled your name wrong, where you'd both ended up at the same window table on separate laptops and caught each other glancing over and looked away fast.
He was so, so hot. That was the thing you couldn't get around, the fact that sat in the center of every interaction you'd ever had with him like a stone in your shoe, impossible to ignore.
Park Sunghoon was tall and broad and bulked up in a way that made it very clear he spent a terrifying number of hours at the gym, his shoulders filling doorframes, his arms thick with visible muscle even through his jackets, his chest and abs a sculpted landscape that you'd caught glimpses of during the summer when he'd come back from the building's gym in a tank top, skin glowing with sweat, and you'd had to physically remind yourself that staring was rude and you were a grown adult with self-control.
But here's the part that made it complicated, the part that turned this from a simple story about wanting the hot guy next door into something that still made your head spin when you thought about it too hard: you were a cam girl.
Mask Girl, that was your name on the site, your persona, the faceless, nameless fantasy that thousands of people tuned in to watch three nights a week.
You wore a delicate mask that covered your face, and you performed with a confidence that belonged to someone else entirely — someone bold, teasing, and untouchable, someone who did provocative things on camera without ever fully touching herself, who built tension like architecture, who made her audience desperate for a glimpse of more without ever giving them everything.
One of those viewers, your most loyal, most generous, most dedicated viewer, was Park Sunghoon.
You didn't know this at the time.
How could you?
On the site, he was just a username: tiramissulatte.
A name that made you smile when it popped up in chat, always early, always staying late, always sending money with a casualness that suggested he either had a lot of it or didn't care about spending it on you, maybe both.
He talked in your chat more than anyone else, complimenting your outfits, reacting to your teases, and the things he said were so specific, so filthy, so attuned to exactly what you were doing that sometimes you wondered if he could read your mind through the screen. You'd arch your back a certain way and tiramissulatte would type something about the curve of your spine that made your stomach flip. You'd wear a new set and he'd describe the color against your skin with a precision that felt intimate, like he was writing you a letter instead of typing in a chat box.
You didn't know tiramissulatte was Sunghoon. Sunghoon definitely didn't know you were Mask Girl, not for sure, not until he did.
Eventually, a blackout forced you to ask Sunghoon if he could keep your cheesecake in his fridge before it melts. He lets you stay while the power’s out, and what starts as a normal movie night slowly becomes tense when he starts acting a bit too strangely — staring too long, seeming distracted, like he’s hiding something.
When you try to leave for a moment, he stops you and reveals that he knows your secret identity as Mask Girl after recognizing the moles on your hand from your streams.
Damn it.
The realization completely changes the atmosphere between you, especially once you understand just how long he’s known.
Everything after that gets pretty blurry in your head.
He kissed you.
Then he was suddenly walking you backward, guiding you, and your back hit his bedroom door and then you were through it and then you were on his bed and his body was over yours, heavy and warm and so much broader than you'd allowed yourself to imagine, and he fucked you.
Right there, in his bed, in unit 109, with the movie still playing in the living room and your cheesecake still safe in his fridge and the power still out in your unit, he fucked you like he'd been waiting for it his entire life, and you let him, you wanted it, and the fact that it was impulsive and confusing and absolutely insane didn't matter because nothing had ever felt that right.
The morning after was complicated.
You'd woken up in his bed, in his t-shirt, with his arm around your waist and your brain full of static and the overwhelming, terrifying, exhilarating realization that you'd just slept with your neighbor, your viewer, tiramissulatte, Park Sunghoon, and you had no fucking idea what came next.
But you talked, really talked, for hours, lying in his bed with the morning light coming through his balcony doors, and you told him about the cam work and how it started and why you did it and how it made you feel, and he told you about finding you on the site and becoming a regular and the slow, consuming obsession that had taken root the more he watched, and by the time the conversation wound down you both understood that this wasn't a one-night thing, that it couldn't be, that something real, specific, and undeniable had been growing between you for months and the sex had just been the match that lit it.
He courted you.
Eight months of it, deliberate and traditional and so awfully Sunghoon it made your chest ache — showing up with food, learning your schedule, being there when you needed him and stepping back when you needed space, never pushing, never presuming, just steadily, patiently, beautifully making it clear that he was serious about this, about you, about whatever this was becoming.
You said yes.
Of course you said yes, because you'd been halfway to yes since he opened his door on that power-outage night and said of course, come in, and the eight months had only confirmed what you already knew.
Now here you were. Still in your respective units, him in 109 and you in 110, because you'd talked about moving in together and decided there was something sweet about maintaining your own spaces while being close enough that you could see each other whenever you pleased.
Your apartment had the bigger couch and the setup for your streams; his had the nicer kitchen and the balcony with the view. Between the two of you, you had everything you needed, and the wall between your bedrooms had become less of a barrier and more of a technicality.
You'd found work as an economic consultant about five months ago — real, professional, respectable work that used your actual degree and paid actual money, though not as consistently and not as well as Mask Girl did, so you kept the streams going, three nights a week, the same schedule, the same persona, the same teasing and provoking and driving your audience insane without ever giving them everything.
Sunghoon still watched. He still tipped. He was still tiramissulatte in your chat, still your most loyal viewer, except now when you read his messages you knew exactly who was typing them, and you'd smile behind your mask at the screen and think, that's my boyfriend, that's my man, that's the person who makes me coffee in the morning and carries me to bed at night, and the secret knowledge of it was the most delicious thing you'd ever tasted.
He absolutely loved it. Having his favorite cam girl all for himself — that's how he described it, with that quiet, possessive certainty that he rarely let anyone else see, the side of him that was reserved for you and only you. Your audience didn't know you were taken. They didn't know that the Mask Girl they fantasized about went home to the most beautiful man in the building, that the fingers they watched trail along lace edges were the same fingers that carded through his hair while he fell asleep, that the voice that whispered filth into the camera whispered his name into his pillow every night. It was your secret, yours and Sunghoon's, and the exclusivity of it, the intimacy of it, drove him absolutely insane in the best possible way.
Sometimes he'd help you get ready. Your outfit, your hair, your accessories, he'd sit on the edge of your bed and watch you sift through your closet with that quiet, observant gaze, and he'd point to things and say, "That one," or "The red tonight," and he was always right, always knew which combination would look best on camera, which color would pop against your skin, which silhouette would drive your viewers insane. He'd zip you up and adjust your straps and step back and look at you with this expression that was equal parts pride and hunger, like he couldn't believe you were his but he was going to appreciate every second of it.
He'd help you get unready too. After every stream, when the adrenaline had faded and the exhaustion had set in and you were soft and pliable and murmuring about nothing in particular, he'd carry you to bed, literally carry you, one arm under your knees and the other behind your back, like you weighed nothing, like his gym-honed body had been built specifically for this, for scooping you up and holding you close and making you feel safe and utterly, completely cherished, then he'd tuck you in and play with your hair and listen to you mumble about the cute pair of boots you'd found on your Pinterest feed or the drama episode you'd missed or whatever random thought was drifting through your tired brain, and he'd smile at you with that rare, private, just-for-you smile and press a kiss to your forehead and say, "We'll get the boots, princess. Go to sleep."
Sometimes both of you would get freaky. On stream, off stream, in the gray area in between, it didn't really matter, because whatever was happening between you in those moments was real and so intensely, perfectly attuned that it felt like you'd been made for each other. You were absolutely perfect for one another, you and Sunghoon, and you wouldn't have it any other way.
Christmas had been a milestone.
You'd brought Sunghoon back to your hometown, your family's house with the creaky porch and the too-small dining table and the chaos of too many relatives in too little space, and he'd fit right in like he'd always been there.
Your little cousin, the one who blasted Brazilian phonk from his portable speaker at all hours and had zero volume control, had clung to him like a koala, dragging him around by the hand to show him his room, his art projects, his collection of shiny rocks he'd found in the yard, and Sunghoon had gone along with all of it with a patience that made your mother watch the two of them with a soft, knowing smile.
He went grocery shopping with your dad, the two of them coming back with twice what was on the list because your dad had kept saying "one more thing" and Sunghoon had kept saying "of course, sir" and apparently they'd bonded over the pickle aisle in a way you were never going to understand.
He helped your mom set the table, folding napkins into little triangles with the same precision he brought to everything, and when she'd thanked him he'd said, "It's my pleasure, Mom," and your mother had stood frozen with a serving spoon in her hand and looked at you with eyes that said this is the one, this is the one right here.
And then there were your old friends. Or rather, the girls from middle school who had been mean to you in the way that middle school girls are mean, not overtly, not cruelly, just in that slow, grinding, undermining way that chips away at your self-esteem over the course of years until you graduate and realize you never want to see them again.
You'd run into them at the mall, of all places, and they'd swarmed you with those too-bright smiles and air-kisses and "oh my god, how have you been"s, and then Sunghoon had appeared beside you with two iced americanos and a bag from the bakery your mom liked, and their jaws had literally dropped.
Not figuratively. Literally. Jaw-dropping, eye-widening, conversation-stopping shock, because Sunghoon was just that handsome, tall, sharp-featured, bulked up in a black coat, and a scarf your mom had knitted him, his shoulders spanning the width of the hallway like a goddamn billboard for genetic superiority, and he was yours. The way he'd slid his arm around your waist and said, "Ready to go, baby?" without even noticing the effect he was having on everyone around him was the single most vindicating moment of your entire life.
It was a regular night, as regular as nights got when your boyfriend was the Park Sunghoon and your side hustle was Mask Girl.
You'd both just gotten home from shopping, or more accurately, from the nail salon and the subsequent wandering-around-the-city that had become your ritual.
True to his word, the word he'd given you in chat before either of you knew who the other was, when you'd shown your nails on stream and tiramissulatte had mentioned he’d pay for your next set and you laughed at him — he'd paid for your nails. Not just that first time. Every single appointment up until now, each and every time, pulling out his card before you could even reach for your wallet, and when you'd protested he'd just tilted his head and given you that look, the one that said don't argue with me on this, and you'd learned to stop arguing because arguing with Sunghoon about things he'd already decided was like arguing with a very handsome, very stubborn wall.
It had become a tradition now. Whenever you got your nails done, you both always had to do something afterwards — eat, take cute photobooth pictures together, catch a movie, cafe hop, wander through museums, just a lot of things, a rotating menu of date activities that turned a routine errand into something you both looked forward to.
Today had been ramen, at the little bar around the corner from the salon that you'd been going to for months, the one where the owner knew your order by heart and always gave Sunghoon extra chashu because she said he was too thin, which was absurd because Sunghoon was built like a weapon, all dense muscle and broad shoulders and arms that could bench press your body weight without breaking a sweat, but you’d never argue with free chashu.
Your nails were spring themed now — short French tips in green, yellow, and pink with tiny hand-painted florals and an obscene amount of sparkle that caught the light every time you moved your hands.
You'd held them up for Sunghoon to see when you'd walked out of the salon, wiggling your fingers in his face, and he'd taken your hand in his and examined each nail with the same careful attention he gave to everything and said, "Pretty. They suit you," and the casual sincerity of it had made your chest flip in a way that nine months of being together hadn't even begun to diminish.
After ramen, you'd strolled through the city park, the one with the duck pond and the willow trees and the cobblestone paths that wound through flower beds that were just starting to bloom, and there'd been a big, sprawling, unavoidable puddle right in the middle of the path, and you'd stopped and whined to Sunghoon that you didn't want your ballet flats to get wet, and he'd looked at you with that tiny, barely-there smile that passed for a grin on his famously stoic face, and he'd pressed a kiss to your forehead and then bent down and scooped you up with one arm, one arm, like you were a bag of groceries and not a grown adult woman, his bicep flexing against your thighs, the sheer strength of him so effortless and so absurd that you'd clung to his neck and laughed, and when he set you down on the other side he'd flexed on you, both arms, and said, "I'm so strong," with such deadpan sincerity that you'd laughed so hard you'd snorted, and he'd smiled, really smiled, the crinkly-eyed one that you lived for, and you'd grabbed his flexed arm and kissed his bicep and told him he was the strongest man alive and he'd said, "I know," and you'd walked home with your hand in his back pocket because you could, because he was yours and you were his and everything was exactly as it should be.
That was earlier. That was the good part.
Now, Sunghoon was face-down on your gigantic unicorn plushie, the one you kept by the couch because it was the size of a small car and served as both decor and emotional support, and he hadn't moved in ten minutes.
You'd noticed something was off the second you'd walked through the door, though you couldn't pinpoint exactly what.
Sunghoon's expression was a masterpiece of neutrality, that stone-cold, impenetrable mask he wore like armor, the one that made strangers think he was aloof and made you think he was the most beautiful mystery you'd ever tried to solve. He'd been quiet on the walk home, quieter than usual, which was saying something because Sunghoon was a man of few words on his most talkative days, but this was a different kind of quiet, a weighted kind, like there was something pressing down on his chest that he couldn't name or wouldn't share.
He'd dropped the shopping bags by the door, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed face-first onto the unicorn without a word, and now he was just lying there, his long legs dangling off the edge, his face buried in the plush, his body completely still, and you watched him from the kitchen with a growing knot of concern in your stomach.
You walked over and crouched down beside him, your freshly done nails catching the lamplight as you reached out and combed your fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead, scratching gently at his scalp the way he liked. His hair was soft and slightly damp at the roots from the humidity outside, and you leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.
"Hoon? Baby? What's wrong?"
Nothing. Not a word, not a grunt, not even a shift of his body to acknowledge that he'd heard you. Just that still, heavy silence that was so unlike him, because even at his most tired, even at his most withdrawn, Sunghoon always responded to your touch, always leaned into your hand, always gave you something.
"Sunghoon-ah," you tried again, softer now, your voice dropping into that honeyed, babying register that you only used with him, the one that made his ears go pink on the rare occasions he let himself be soft in return. "Awww, poor baby. It's okay. I'm right here. Tell me what's wrong, yeah? Let me make it better."
You carded your fingers through his hair again, slower this time, tracing the shell of his ear, the back of his neck, and you felt the tiniest shift, his shoulders releasing a fraction of their tension, his body turning a centimeter toward you, but still no words. He wasn't crying. He wasn't even close to crying, you could tell. He was just upset, in that quiet, internalized way he had of being upset, where something was wrong and he either couldn't articulate it or wouldn't, and the not-knowing was its own kind of agony because all you wanted was to fix it and you couldn't fix what you couldn't understand.
"My poor baby," you murmured, and you leaned down and kissed his temple, his cheekbone, the corner of his jaw. "It's okay. You don't have to talk. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Awww, look at you, all sad and pouty on the unicorn. It's okay, baby, I've got you."
He shifted again, a small, subtle movement, his body orienting toward you just barely, like a flower turning toward warmth, and that tiny response was enough to tell you that he heard you, that he appreciated you, that whatever was weighing on him wasn't about you, it was about something else, something he was keeping locked behind those beautiful, guarded eyes of his.
An idea sparked in the back of your mind.
It was a ridiculous idea. It was a dramatic, over-the-top, absolutely unhinged idea, and it was exactly the kind of thing that would either make him laugh or make him forget whatever was bothering him entirely, and either outcome was acceptable to you at this rate.
"Hey," you said, and you smoothed his hair back one more time. "Wait here. Don't move. I'll be right back."
He didn't respond, not verbally, not with any visible reaction beyond a subtle shift of his body that might have been acknowledgement or might have been nothing, and you took it.
You stood up quickly, your knees protesting the crouch, and you padded down the hallway toward your office — the room you used for your Mask Girl streams, the room that held your setup and your lighting and the closet that held every costume, every prop, every piece of carefully curated fantasy that you'd accumulated over your career.
You opened the closet and surveyed your inventory. Rows of costumes on hangers, organized by color and theme, each one a different persona, a different fantasy, a different way of becoming someone else for the camera. You sifted through them methodically — the nurse, the cat girl, the maid, the schoolgirl, the devil, the angel — until your fingers landed on something you hadn't worn yet, something you'd ordered months ago and never had occasion to use, something that was still in its garment bag with the tags attached.
A bunny girl cosplay.
Oh shit.
You unzipped the bag and let it fall to the floor, and the costume unfurled in front of you like a promise. It was stunning. It was obscene. It was exactly what you needed. The ears were tall and pointed, covered in soft black velvet with wire inside so they could be posed, attached to a headband that sat securely on your crown. The stockings were sheer black thigh-highs with a lace trim at the top and a seam running up the back. The gloves were elbow-length satin that matched the ears. And the body — the body was the main event.
It was a bodysuit shaped like a corset, boned and structured, in thin black fabric with lace overlay that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The breast area was tight, padded just enough to push your tits upward and together until they were practically spilling over the top, and the cut of it was so low that it bordered on illegal. The bottom half was high-cut on the hips, the kind of cut that made your legs look endless and your waist look impossibly small, and the whole thing fastened with a ribbon at the back that, when untied, would cause the entire structure to fall apart like a house of cards.
If this couldn't cheer Sunghoon up, you didn't know what would.
You dressed quickly, pulling the bodysuit on first and adjusting yourself within it, tucking and shifting and arranging until your cleavage looked like it had been sculpted by a renaissance artist with a very, very specific agenda. The stockings came next, rolling them up your legs with care, the lace sitting high on your thighs, the seam straight and precise. The gloves, satin-smooth against your skin. The ears, positioned just right on top of your head, one tilted slightly forward for that playful, coquettish look.
You checked your makeup in the mirror, you'd had a full face on from earlier, and it was holding up fine, just needed a touch-up. More blush, a sharper wing on the eyeliner, a swipe of the deep red lip color that you knew for a fact made Sunghoon lose the ability to form coherent sentences. You fluffed your hair, adjusted the ears one more time, and looked at yourself in the full-length mirror.
Ooh la la. You looked good. You looked better than good, you looked like a fantasy, like a wet dream wearing bunny ears, and the sight of your own reflection was enough to make you feel the first flutter of confidence that this was going to work.
Before you left the room, you grabbed one more thing, a length of black silk cloth from your prop drawer, soft and supple and long enough to serve as a blindfold. You tucked it behind you, took a breath, and headed for the living room.
The air conditioning prickled at your bare skin as you walked down the hallway, raising goosebumps on your arms and the exposed tops of your breasts, and you shivered, partly from the cold and partly from the adrenaline of what you were about to do.
When you rounded the corner into the living room, Sunghoon was still there, still face-down on the unicorn, his body in the same position you'd left him in, and a surge of tenderness so fierce it almost knocked you sideways washed over you at the sight of him, this beautiful, stubborn, infuriating man who wouldn't tell you what was wrong but who trusted you enough to stay exactly where you'd asked him to.
You crossed the room and crouched down beside him again, and this time when you touched his hair, you felt him lean into your hand, just barely, just enough.
"Hoon," you said, and your voice was soft and honeyed and full of the kind of warmth that was reserved exclusively for him. "Lift your head up for me. Just a little. And close your eyes. I have a surprise for you."
He didn't look at you. He didn't turn around. He just obeyed, lifted his head just enough for you to access his face, and closed his eyes, and the simplicity of it, the immediate, unquestioning trust of it, made your heart squeeze so hard it almost hurt.
You reached behind you and pulled the silk cloth free, and you wrapped it around his head and tied it carefully at the back, snug enough that he couldn't peek but loose enough that it didn't hurt, and the black silk stood out against his pale hair and his sharp features and you wanted to take a photo of him like this, blindfolded, trusting, and yours, but that would have to wait, unfortunately.
"Okay," you said, and you placed your hands on his shoulders and stood up, guiding him with you. "Stand up for me. Come on. Up."
He stood, and you led him by the hand to the couch, guiding him around the coffee table, and when the back of his knees hit the cushion you pressed gently on his chest and he sat, and you could feel the tension in his shoulders, the faint furrow between his brows beneath the blindfold, the way his hands gripped the edge of the cushion, he was surprised, caught off guard, not sure what to expect, and the uncertainty of it was almost endearing.
You climbed onto his lap. One knee on either side of his hips, your hands on his shoulders, your weight settling onto his thighs, and for the first time since you'd gotten home, he spoke.
"What are you doing, princess?"
His voice was low and rough and slightly muffled by the blindfold, and the word princess hit you like a jolt of electricity, the way it always did, because Sunghoon called you princess like it was a title he'd invented just for you, like you were royalty and he was your most devoted subject, and the roughness in it, the hint of curiosity beneath the exhaustion, gave you the opening you needed.
"Go see for yourself," you said, and you reached up and undid the blindfold with one hand, pulling the silk away from his eyes, and at the same time you shifted your hips forward on his lap, grinding down onto him in a slow, deliberate roll.
His eyes opened.
And you watched, in real time, as every thought in Sunghoon's head evaporated.
His gaze dropped to your chest first, because of course it did, your tits were right there, pushed up and out and practically begging for attention, the lace edge of the bodysuit cutting across the upper swell of your breasts in a way that made them look like they were about to escape entirely, and you weren't wearing a bra underneath, weren't wearing anything underneath, because the whole point of this was to leave as little between you and him as possible.
Then his eyes traveled down, taking in the corset, the stockings, the gloves, the ears, and then back up to your face, to your red lips and your sharp eyeliner and the mischievous, knowing smile that you were wearing like a weapon, and his mouth opened and closed and opened again and no sound came out, and you had never felt more powerful in your entire life.
"What—" he started, and his voice cracked, actually cracked, and you felt the vibration of it in your thighs where they pressed against his.
"Shhh," you said, and you rolled your hips again, slower this time, a grinding motion that pressed your core against the growing hardness you could feel through his jeans. "I saw my baby was upset, and I couldn't figure out why, and you wouldn't tell me, and I thought—what's the one thing that always makes my Sunghoon feel better?" You leaned in, your lips brushing his ear, your breasts pressing against his chest, and the bunny ears tickled his cheek. "And then I thought—me. I make Sunghoon feel better. So here I am."
You ground down on him again, and this time you were shameless about it, rolling your hips in a slow, tight circle that dragged your clothed center against his length, and you could feel him hardening beneath you, could feel the heat of him even through the layers of fabric, and you made sure to be loud about it, a breathy, exaggerated moan right against his ear, followed by a smaller, more genuine one when the friction hit your clit just right, and the combination of performance and real pleasure made the sound so convincing that you felt his hands tighten on your hips.
"Awww, poor baby," you murmured, and you pressed your lips to his jaw and kissed a slow path to his ear while you kept grinding. "So stressed. So tense. Let me take care of you, yeah? Let me make it all better. You've been so good today—carried me over the puddle, paid for my nails, flexed those big arms for me—you deserve a reward, don't you, baby? Don't you think my baby deserves a reward?"
His hands came up to rest on your hips, and his grip was firm and warm and just this side of desperate, and you could feel the war happening inside him, the part that wanted to stay upset, to hold onto whatever was weighing him down, fighting against the part that wanted to let go, to sink into you, to let you take all of it away. You made the decision for him. You kissed him.
You kissed him like you were trying to drink him, like his mouth was the only source of water in a desert, and you rolled your hips at the same time, grinding down onto him with a deliberate, rhythmic pressure that left no room for anything else, and you were extra noisy about it, so noisy, so shameless, gasping and whimpering into his mouth, making sounds that were pure performance and pure need all tangled together, the kind of sounds you made on camera when you knew your audience was watching, except this audience was just one man and he was the only one who mattered.
"Mmmph—oh—" you gasped against his lips, and you ground down harder, the friction against your clit sending a spark of genuine pleasure through you, and you let the sound come out filthy and breathless and completely unhinged. "Goodness, Hoon, you feel so good already, and I've barely started—you're getting so hard for me, baby, I can feel you through your jeans—you're such a slut for me, you know that? One little grind and you're already this hard—"
He kissed you back. That was the turning point. His hands tightened on your hips and his mouth opened against yours and his tongue slid between your lips and he kissed you like he was drowning and you were air, and the sound he made was this low, broken, desperate thing that vibrated through his chest and into yours, told you that you'd won. Whatever wall he'd built around himself tonight, you were scaling it, and he was letting you.
You kept grinding, kept kissing, kept being noisy and slutty and shameless about it, rolling your hips with purpose now, pressing down onto the length of him, letting him feel the heat of you through the thin fabric of the bodysuit, and the sounds you were making were absolute filth, breathy moans and high-pitched whines and his name over and over like a prayer, like you couldn't help yourself, like riding him through his clothes was the most overwhelming sensation you'd ever experienced.
"Baby," he groaned against your mouth, and his voice was wrecked, barely holding together, and the sound of it sent a bolt of heat straight between your legs.
"Shh," you said again, and you pressed your forehead to his and smiled, soft and fond and so full of love it almost hurt. "Let me take care of my baby. Let me make you feel good. You're so pretty when you're stressed, you know that? All broody and quiet and I just want to climb you like a tree—wait, I already am climbing you—" you giggled against his lips and ground down particularly hard and his breath stuttered, "—I want you so bad it makes me stupid, Park Sunghoon, you and your stupid big arms and your stupid handsome face—"
Your hands went to the back of your bodysuit, where the ribbon was, and his eyes tracked the movement, dark and hungry and slightly dazed, like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.
You held his gaze as you pulled the ribbon loose, and the bodysuit went slack around your torso, the structure collapsing, and you shrugged it off your shoulders and pulled your arms free of the gloves and the bodysuit peeled down your body and fell to your waist, and then it was off entirely, kicked to the floor, and you were sitting on his lap in nothing but the stockings and the ears because you hadn't been wearing panties underneath, hadn't even thought to, because the whole point of this was to leave as little between you and him as possible.
He stared at you. His eyes swept over your bare chest, your bare stomach, the dip of your waist and the swell of your hips and the wet, glistening evidence of how turned on you were, and his throat worked around a swallow that was almost audible.
"Baby," you said, and you leaned back slightly, putting yourself on display for him, and you brought your hands up to your breasts and cupped them, squeezing gently, your thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you watched his eyes go dark, so dark, like someone had pulled a shade over the warm brown and left nothing but heat behind. "You've been so stressed today. Let me help."
You touched yourself the way you would on stream, which was to say, not fully, not completely, just enough to tease, just enough to build the tension to an almost unbearable pitch. Your hands on your breasts, kneading, rolling your nipples between your fingers, and you let the sounds come easy, soft, breathy moans that you knew drove him insane, little gasps and whimpers that were only partially performance. One hand drifted down your stomach, down between your thighs, and you rubbed lazy circles at your clit and your head fell back and you moaned, long and low and shameless.
"Mmmgh, Sunghoon, baby," you whined, and you rubbed yourself slowly, obscenely, your wetness coating your fingers, the slick sound of it filling the quiet room. "You feel so good—fuck—how I wish that dick could be inside me right now. Been thinking about it all day. Every time you looked at me. Every time you touched me. Every time you picked me up with those stupid big arms—I just kept thinking about how bad I want you inside me—"
You leaned forward deliberately, pressing your chest close to his face, and you moaned into his hair, your lips brushing his temple, and you let the sound vibrate through you and into him. "God, you're such a slut for me, Park Sunghoon. My own personal slut. All mine. Nobody else gets to see you like this, nobody else gets to make you this hard, just me—and you love it, don't you? You love being a slut for me, baby?"
"Princess—" His voice was rough, almost pained, and his hands were on your hips again, gripping hard, and you could feel the restraint in him, the effort it was taking him to let you lead, to let you set the pace, and you loved it, you loved the way his fingers dug into your flesh like he was holding on by a thread, like one more tease would be the thing that snapped it.
"I love it," you said, answering your own question with a grin that was equal parts wicked and adoring. "I love that you're such a slut for me. I love that all I have to do is put on bunny ears and grind on you and you're already falling apart. I love that my favorite viewer is also my favorite person to ride—"
"Princess," he said again, and this time it was a warning, or maybe a plea, or maybe both tangled together into a single word that couldn't decide what it wanted to be.
You pulled back just enough to look at him, and his eyes were so dark they were almost black, his lips parted, his chest heaving, and the flush on his cheekbones was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. "Let's get you out of these," you said, and your hands went to the hem of his shirt.
You undressed him slowly, or as slowly as you could manage when your hands were shaking and your heart was hammering and every inch of skin you revealed made you want to skip ahead.
His shirt first, pulled over his head and tossed somewhere behind you, and you ran your hands down his chest, his abs, the sharp cut of his V-line, tracing the defined muscles that he spent hours at the gym building, and you pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his pectoral and murmured, "Gym rat. Look at you. All this for me? You're so hot it's actually annoying," and he huffed a laugh that was half breath and half disbelief. Then his jeans, unbuttoned and unzipped and pushed down his hips along with his boxers, and his cock sprang free, hard and flushed and thick and leaking at the tip, and you looked at it and then at him and then back at it and licked your lips.
"Oh, baby," you said, and you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock and squeezed, and his hips jerked up into your touch and a strangled sound escaped his throat. "Look at you. So hard for me. All this from a little grinding? And you call me the slut—you're dripping, Hoon, you're making a mess already and I've barely touched you—"
You weren't going to ride him. Not yet. You had other plans first.
You shifted off his lap and settled between his knees on the floor, the carpet soft beneath you, and you looked up at him through your lashes, the bunny ears still perched on your head, your lips red and swollen from kissing, your bare chest heaving, and the image you made was so pornographic that you half-wished your camera was running. But this wasn't for the camera. This was for him.
You leaned in and spat on his cock. A thick, deliberate string of saliva that landed on the head and dripped down the shaft, and you spread it with your hand, slicking him up, and the wet, obscene sound of your fist sliding along his length made you clench around nothing. You looked up at him and spat again, more this time, letting it drip from your lips onto him like you couldn't be bothered to swallow, and the sheer filth of it made his jaw go slack and his cock twitch in your hand.
"Oh, you like that?" you said, and you stroked him again, spreading the spit and precum, your grip firm and twisting. "You like when I'm messy? When I spill spit all over this big fucking cock? God, you're so big, Hoon—I never get used to it. Every time I see it I'm like, how does that fit inside me? And then it does and I lose my goddamn mind—"
You stroked him fast, your grip firm and twisting, your hand flying up and down his shaft while your thumb dragged across the sensitive ridge beneath the head on every upstroke, and his thighs were tensing and his abs were clenching and the sounds he was making were the most beautiful music you'd ever heard.
Then you slowed. You slowed way down, and you leaned in and took just the head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, licking into the slit, tasting the salty bead of precum there, and you sucked lightly, so lightly, and his hand flew to your hair and gripped.
"Fuck—" he breathed, and it was barely a word, more of an exhalation shaped like one, and you looked up at him through your lashes with his cock in your mouth and watched his eyes flutter and his head fall back against the couch, and the power of it, the sheer, intoxicating power of having Sunghoon at your mercy, made you moan around him, and the vibration of it made his hips buck.
You took him deeper, relaxing your throat, letting him feel the wet heat of your mouth inch by inch, and when you pulled back you did it slowly too, your lips tight around him, your tongue pressed flat against the underside of his shaft, and you popped off the head with a sound that was deliberately, pornographically wet.
"Such a pretty cock," you murmured, and you stroked him again, fast and tight, your spit and his precum making everything slick and obscene. "My favorite cock. The only cock I ever want in my mouth ever again. You know that? I'd be happy just doing this forever, just sucking you off whenever you're stressed, keeping you warm and wet and happy—would you like that, baby? Want me to be your little stress relief? Your personal slut?"
"Princess—" His voice was wrecked, barely a voice at all, just friction and heat and need, and you could tell he was getting close, could feel it in the way his cock throbbed in your hand, in the way his thighs trembled, in the way his breathing turned ragged and shallow.
You pulled back. Not yet. Not like this.
"Enough," you said, and you climbed back onto his lap, settling over him, and you reached down and positioned the head of his cock at your entrance. "I need you inside me. I need to feel you. You've been patient, baby, you've been so good—let me reward you."
You sank down onto him slowly, torturously slowly, and the stretch of him was so much, so overwhelming, that your mouth fell open in a silent moan and your eyes squeezed shut and your nails dug into his shoulders hard enough to leave crescents.
He filled you completely, thick and hot and so deep that you could feel him everywhere, could feel him in your stomach, in your chest, in the tips of your fingers where they gripped his skin, and when you were fully seated on him, when he was buried to the hilt inside you, you both just stayed there for a moment, breathing, adjusting, feeling.
Then you started to move.
You rode him slowly. Nice and slow, the way you'd promised yourself, rolling your hips in a languid, grinding rhythm that let you feel every inch of him, every ridge and vein and the way he pulsed inside you when you clenched around him. His hands were on your waist, letting you set the pace, and his eyes were on your face, dark and burning and so full of want that it made your breath catch.
"Mmmgh," you moaned, and you rolled your hips harder, grinding down onto him, and the new angle meant his cock was dragging against that spot inside you with every movement, and your voice came out breathless and broken. "Daddy—you feel so good—so big and warm for me—I'd love to be filled up all night—just like this—keeping you inside me forever—"
You felt the shift in him the second the word left your mouth. His whole body went rigid, his fingers digging into your waist so hard, and his jaw clenched and his eyes went wide and then narrowed and something dark, hungry, and absolutely feral crossed his face, and you knew damn well that you'd just lit a fuse and you were about to find out what happened when it burned down.
"Daddy?" he repeated, and his voice was low, lower than you'd ever heard it, a rumble that you felt in your bones, and there was a dangerous edge to it, something predatory and barely controlled. "Say that again."
"Daddy," you said, and you rolled your hips and pushed your chest forward, your tits bouncing with the movement, right in front of his face, and you watched his eyes lock onto them like they were the only thing in the world. "You're literally daddy, Park Sunghoon. You pay for my nails, you carry me over puddles, you put me to bed after my streams—you're so daddy it's insane—you're the daddiest man I've ever met in my entire—mmmph—"
He took one of your nipples into his mouth and you forgot how to speak.
His tongue was hot and wet and relentless against the sensitive bud, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp, and you cradled his head against your chest and rode him harder, faster, chasing the feeling, and the sounds you were making, wet, desperate moans and breathless repetitions of daddy and yes and please and more, and you could feel him getting close, could feel the tension coiling in his body, the way his thrusts were getting jerkier, more urgent, his cock pulsing inside you—
And you slowed down.
You slowed way down, nearly to a stop, just a slow, lazy grind that kept him right on the edge without pushing him over, and you looked down at him with half-lidded eyes and a smile that was equal parts love and wickedness, and you said, "Not yet, daddy. You gotta wait. You've been a bad baby, keeping secrets from me, not telling me what's wrong—bad babies don't get to come yet—"
Something in him snapped.
It happened so fast you didn't have time to process it.
One moment you were on his lap, in control, setting the pace, and the next his arms were around you and he was standing, lifting you like you weighed nothing, and your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct and your arms wrapped around his neck and you barely had time to register the movement before your back hit the glass door of your balcony, the cold surface shocking against your bare skin, and the city lights were spread out behind you through the glass, and you hadn't closed the curtains, and you didn't care, you couldn't care, because Sunghoon was spinning you around and pressing your front against the glass and his cock was inside you again, from behind this time, and the new angle was so deep, so impossibly deep, that the sound you made wasn't even a moan, it was something more primal, something torn from a place you didn't know existed.
He didn't start slow. He didn't ease into it. He rams into you with a force that makes the glass rattle in its frame, his hips slamming against your ass, his cock hitting so deep inside you that you can see galaxies, and one arm wraps around your throat, holding, just claiming, a headlock that pins you against him while he fucks you, and his other hand comes down hard on your ass, a sharp, stinging slap that makes you gasp and clench around him, and then the hand is moving, sliding around to your front, finding your clit, rubbing it in tight, firm circles that have you seeing white.
"Daddy—" you gasp, and the word comes out broken and desperate and so far gone that you barely recognize your own voice. "Daddy, I'm—ah—daddy, please—harder—fuck—daddy, I love you—"
"Say it again," he growls against your ear, and his voice is so low and so rough and so utterly wrecked that it sends a shiver down your entire body, makes your walls clench around him so hard he groans. "Call me daddy again. Keep saying it. You wanted to tease me, princess? You wanted to edge me? Bad babies get fucked, you hear me? You don't get to tell me when I come—I come when I want—and I'm gonna come so deep inside you you'll feel me for days—"
"Daddy—oh god—daddy, you feel so good—you're so deep—daddy, I'm so close—"
"That's right, baby." His hand moves from your clit to your breast, grabbing it, kneading it roughly, his fingers pinching and rolling your nipple, and the combination of him inside you and his hand on your tit and his arm around your throat and his breath hot against your ear is so overwhelming that you feel like you might shatter into a million pieces.
"I'm your daddy. Say it louder. Let the whole building hear who you belong to. You're such a slut for me, aren't you? Putting on that little outfit, grinding on me, calling me daddy—you wanted this, didn't you? You wanted me to snap, wanted me to fuck you like this—"
"I did—I wanted it—daddy, please—I wanted you to fuck me like you hate me—I wanted—ah—I wanted you to ruin me—"
"Oh, I'm gonna ruin you alright. I'm gonna ruin you so good you won't remember what was upsetting you—wait, that's me—I won't remember what was upsetting me—fuck—" and he laughs, breathless and slightly unhinged, and the sound of it, the fact that he's laughing while he's balls-deep inside you and his hand is on your clit again and the city lights are glittering through the glass, it's so perfectly, absurdly, beautifully you-and-him that you feel the orgasm building like a tidal wave.
"Daddy—yes—right there—daddy, harder—I love you—I love you so much—fuck me harder, daddy, please—"
"I love you too, princess—fuck, I love you so much it makes me crazy—" His hips are snapping forward with a rhythm that's becoming erratic, desperate, his breath ragged against your ear, and his hand is working your clit faster now, harder, and you can feel yourself barreling toward the edge. "Come for me. Come on daddy's cock. Let me feel you."
The orgasm crashes through you like a wave breaking, your walls clenching around him in pulsing waves, your body arching against the glass, his name and daddy and yes and please all spilling from your lips in a breathless, desperate litany, and you feel him follow you over the edge a moment later, his hips jerking against you, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he comes with a groan that's muffled against your shoulder where his teeth are pressing into your skin, not hard enough to break but hard enough to mark, hard enough to claim.
"Oh yes, baby, I'm your daddy," he groans against your shoulder, and his voice is strained and breathless and so full of filthy, desperate need that it makes your cunt clench around him in another aftershock. "Keep saying that and I'm gonna stuff you up with my cum until it's all you'll ever be able to feel for days. You want that? You want daddy to fill you up so good you'll be leaking me all week?"
But he's not done. Before you've even fully registered the words, he's pulling out of you and scooping you up into his arms, and you're too wrecked to do anything but wrap your arms around his neck and let him carry you, and he walks with purpose down the hallway to your bedroom, and he kicks the door open and deposits you onto the bed, and he looks at you with those dark, burning eyes and you know what he wants and you want it too, and you reach for him and pull him down onto the bed with you.
You push him onto his back and straddle him, and you can feel his cock, still half-hard, pressing against your entrance, and you sink down onto him again and start to ride, and this time you don't go slow, you go fast, so fast, so desperate, your hips bouncing on his cock at a pace that's almost violent, your hands planted on his chest, your tits bouncing with every movement, and the sound of it fills the room — skin slapping against skin, wet, and so, so good.
"Daddy," you gasp, and you're riding him so fast that you can barely catch your breath, can barely form words, but you force them out anyway because you know what they do to him, you know the power you hold when you call him that. "Daddy, come for me—come inside me—fill me up—I want it—I want all of it—come more, baby, fill me up—give me every drop—you're such a good slut for me, coming inside me like this—you love filling me up, don't you, daddy? You love stuffing me full—"
His hands grip your hips so hard you know there'll be fingerprints tomorrow, and his head is thrown back against the pillow and his jaw is clenched and his abs are trembling, and you can feel him getting close again, can feel the way his cock throbs inside you, the way his breathing turns to gasps, the way his hips jerk up to meet yours, and the fact that he's still half-hard and getting hard again and you're making him come twice in the span of ten minutes makes you feel like a god.
"Come," you command, and your voice is firm and breathless and absolutely certain, and that's all it takes.
He comes with a broken groan of your name, his cock pulsing inside you, his cum spilling hot and thick, and you keep riding him through it, slowing only slightly, milking every last drop out of him, and you're babbling, encouraging him, praising him, "Yes, daddy, that's it, give me more, fill me up, so good, you're so good for me, such a good daddy, my good little slut—come more, baby, I want it all—"
When you finally stop, when you finally lift yourself off him, you can feel the mess — his cum and your slick dripping down your inner thighs, the evidence of everything you'd just done, and you crawl up his body and press a kiss to his lips, soft and sweet and so full of love that it makes your chest ache.
You reach down and wrap your hand around his cock, oversensitive and messy with both of you, and you stroke him slowly, spreading the mixture of your arousal and his cum along his length, the slick, filthy sound of it filling the quiet room, and you look down at him with a smile that's equal parts tender and satisfied.
"Does my baby feel better now?"
He smiles. A real smile, not the barely-there quirk of his lips that most people got, but the full, genuine, slightly dopey smile that was yours and yours alone, the one that made his eyes crinkle and his nose scrunch and made you fall in love with him all over again every single time.
"I do," he says, and his voice is rough and wrecked and warm, and you're about to lean in and kiss him again when his hand moves.
His hand comes up between your thighs, and before you can react, before you can process what's happening, his fingers are sliding inside you, two of them, then three, stretching you open with a suddenness that makes you gasp against his mouth, and your eyes go wide and you pull back and stare at him and he's looking at you with that dark, hungry look again, the one that says he's not done with you yet, the one that says you started this and he's going to finish it, and the shock of it, the sheer audacity of Sunghoon shoving three fingers inside you when you thought you were done, makes a sound escape your throat that's somewhere between a gasp and a laugh and a moan.
"Sunghoon—what—I—you—"
"I won't be the only one who comes twice," he says, and his voice is rough and completely matter-of-fact, like he's stating the weather, like this is simply how things are going to be, and his fingers curl inside you and press against that spot and your brain short-circuits, your protest dissolving into a broken whine that you can't control.
He pulls you over him, positioning you so you're straddling his face, and his mouth finds your breast at the same time his fingers are fucking you, his tongue hot against your nipple, sucking and biting and licking while his three fingers stretch you open and curl and press and find that spot over and over and over, and everything is too much that your hands fist in his hair and you arch your back and you can't breathe, you can't think, you can't do anything except feel.
"Come for me," he says against your breast, and his voice vibrates through your nipple and straight down to your core, and the filth of it, the way his mouth is still on you and his fingers are still inside you and he's commanding you like it's totally normal, "Come for daddy."
You come so hard your vision whites out. Your walls clench around his fingers in pulsing waves, your entire body trembling, your voice breaking on his name, on daddy, on a sound that isn't even a word anymore, and he works you through it with the same steady, devastating rhythm, his fingers curling and pressing inside you while his mouth stays on your breast, and you can feel him smile against your skin when you clench around him, can feel the satisfaction radiating off him like heat, and he fingers you through it, through every aftershock, through every pulse, until you're pushing at his wrist and gasping from the overstimulation and your thighs are shaking so hard you can barely hold yourself up.
When it subsides, when the aftershocks have faded to small, trembling ripples, he gently lifts you off of him and lays you beside him on the pillow, and his fingers slide out of you slowly, and you whimper at the loss, and he brings his hand up to your face.
"Open," he says, and his voice is soft now, gentle, a command wrapped in tenderness, and you open your mouth without thinking, without questioning, because you're his and he's yours and this is what that means, and he slides his fingers inside, the ones that were just inside you, covered in your slick and his cum, and you suck them clean, your tongue swirling around each digit, tasting both of you on his skin, and his eyes are on your mouth and his expression is so raw and so full of something that looks like reverence and hunger and love all tangled together that it makes your chest hurt.
He pulls the blanket over both of you. The soft, heavy duvet that smells like your laundry detergent and his shampoo and home, and he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you in close, your back to his chest, his breath warm and slow against the back of your neck, and the room is quiet except for the sound of your breathing slowly returning to normal.
"That was amazing," he says, and his voice is muffled against your hair, sleepy and satisfied and so soft that you almost miss it.
"I'm sorry," he says after a moment, quieter now, the sleepiness giving way to something more vulnerable. "For not telling you. For shutting you out."
You turn in his arms, because you need to see his face, because you need him to know that whatever was bothering him earlier doesn't change anything, doesn't diminish what you have, doesn't make you love him even one fraction less.
You're still too wrecked to form proper sentences, the sensation still running through you like electricity, making your muscles twitch and your breath catch and your skin tingle everywhere he touched you, but you manage a smile and whisper, "It's okay. Whatever it is, it's okay. You'll tell me when you're ready."
He looks at you for a long moment, and his eyes are clear now, no longer dull or guarded or shut off, and something in them shifts, softens, opens, and he pulls you in tighter by the waist and presses his forehead to yours, and you reach up and wipe the sweat from his forehead with your thumbs, gentle and so full of tenderness that it makes his breath catch.
And then he starts to talk.
Slowly, hesitantly, the words coming out in fits and starts, like he's testing each one before releasing it, like he's not sure how to give shape to the thing that's been sitting heavy in his chest all day. You don't push. You don't ask questions. You just lie there in his arms, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, your thumb still brushing his temple, and you listen. You listen like you've always listened, with your whole body and your whole heart, and the words come, slowly at first and then faster, and the weight on his chest lifts piece by piece, and by the time he's done the room feels lighter and his arms feel tighter and his forehead is pressed to yours and he's saying, "Thank you. Thank you so, so much. For being patient with me. For—um, for all of this."
And you smile, because that's all you can literally do, smile and hold him and know that whatever it was, whatever it is, you'll face it together, the way you face everything — side by side, wall to wall, unit 109 and unit 110, close enough to touch, and way too in love to leave.
⭐ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
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💿 ࿐ . . touch by cigarettes after sex
✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !
⤷ note: i firmly believe this man is always so desperate for any slight friction, trying something new for Jake!
contains smut ◡̈
Horny!bf jake who whenever you aren’t home jerks off to your panties, leaving them all sticky and ruined because of how much he missed you.
Horny!bf jake who can never keep his hands off of you, always squeezing and groping you until you give him what he wants.
Horny!bf jake who’s always in between your legs whenever he gets the chance too, he would go down on you for hours. Sometimes not even planning to make you finish, he just loves the feeling of your warm wet cunt all over his face.
Horny!bf jake who fucks you like a madman, he slams into you fast and hard while his free hands spread you even wider just so he can go even deeper. And the only reason he slows down is after he climaxes, still buried deep inside you.
Horny!bf jake who loves nipple play, he looooves to squeeze and lick your tits. Saying things like “yeah baby you like that?” not breaking eye contact while licking all over your sensitive hard nipple.
Horny!bf jake who brat tames you whenever you’re being a ‘bitch’, punishing you by not letting you cum all night. He loves seeing you all whiny and messy for him, he will even go as far as secretly recording it then getting off to it later :( .
Horny!bf jake who loves risky sex, you could be anywhere. family house, out in public, in the car, even at dinner and he will still find a way to overstimulate you. the thought of both of you getting caught in the act makes his dick throb so hard.
Horny!bf jake who loves having his fingers deep inside your creamy hole. A simple movie night escalates to him having you bottom less spread all over your shared apartment couch finger blasting you.
Horny!bf jake who’s a sucker for dirty talk. That shit turns him on so much, just a “this pussy’s all yours” during sex drives him over the edge. Making him cum so hard and so much over your filthy words.
Horny!bf jake who although is always in a horny mood cares and loves you dearly, sometimes giving you soft slow intimate sex. and if not, is always showering you with sweet kisses and words of affirmation.
@rikicakes
updates: hopefully done writing something for all the members by next week, next up is niki. If you guys have any ideas feel free to request!
Synopsis: Jake decides to completely surrender, ready to be his girlfriend's favorite toy for a night… or more.
Pairings: : Jake x fem!reader - dominant!reader x submissive!jake
Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, bdsm, established relationship, actual porn, p in v, unprotected sex (not for you idiot), masturbation (m), oral (m recieiving), cockwarming, grinding, multiple orgasms, denial orgasm, cock riding, cowgirl & doggy position, vibrator use, masochist jake, praise and pets names, mommy kink, consent, mutual agreement, sex toys, bondage, blindfolded, idk what more
wc: 2,1k
note: English isn't my first language, so if you find any mistakes I apologize, hehe, and I also welcome any corrections or tips from you.
If by some chance you're here and you speak Spanish, let me tell you that I do too, hehe, and that the Spanish version is available here.
After long, grueling months of work, they were finally getting their well-deserved rest. Their week-long vacation started today, and they were enjoying it by doing absolutely nothing. Jake was so exhausted—his muscles achingly tense after the release of his latest album—that he lacked the energy even to think. She, on the other hand, had just finished launching her own magazine. As a photographer for one of the industry's giants, her solo project had been a resounding success.
They lay in bed with the TV on, half-watching a series they’d started but never truly followed or paid attention to. They were so accustomed to the 24/7 grind that doing nothing felt like the best plan in the universe. She kept her eyes closed, breathing steadily, letting the peace wash over her. She wasn’t sleepy, just finally still.
Then, she felt the mattress dip as Jake leaned in, his warm lips pressing against her cheek. Without opening her eyes, she smiled, stroking his jawline; she adored her sweety Jakey, affectionate side. He peppered her face with soft, short pecks—her nose, her forehead—before settling on her lips. When she finally opened her eyes to offer a teasing look, Jake deepened the kiss, savoring the faint taste of the lipstick she’d worn that morning. He cupped her face, his thumbs grazing her cheekbones as the rhythm shifted—growing more desperate to consume her, more pleading for an attention she was willing to give without hesitation.
"It's been so long since we had real fun... love."
She nodded, kissing her handsome boyfriend again. "I’ve missed my prince so much."
Jake smiled, teeth grazing his lip before he let out a shaky gasp. He kissed her again with a new level of desperation, as if it weren't enough; he craved so much more from his woman. "I want you to do whatever you want with me tonight," he blurted out against her lips.
She pulled back just a few inches, searching his eyes. "What? Say it again, Jake."
He sank back on his heels, lowering his gaze slightly. He was nervous—visibly so. Oh God, she swore she'd get wet right then and there. "I don't want to lead," he murmured shyly. "I want you to use me... tonight."
She let out a soft, low laugh, shifting to face him fully. She cupped his cheeks, squeezing them just enough to make his lips pout. Jake watched her with wide eyes, his pupils blown and bright, silently pleading for her to devour him without mercy.
"Good. Who am I to refuse such a well-behaved boy?" She caressed his cheeks, now flushed pink, and ran her fingers through his hair before kissing the top of his head. "From now on, you will obey everything I tell you. Right, Jaeyunie?"
He nodded eagerly.
"Good boy. Remember, my prince: we just need the magic word and everything stops. Because I promise you, I'll make you cry and beg tonight."
Jake nodded again. She ordered him to sit against the headboard while she left the room in search of—the special box. Jake waited impatiently, a mix of nerves and raw excitement. When she returned, she commanded him to undress. He obeyed instantly, his trembling hands reaching for his shirt and yanking it off in one swift motion.
"Slowly, prince. And look me in the eyes while you do it."
Jake swallowed hard, taking a deep breath. He guided his hands to the waistband of his pajama pants, sliding them down agonizingly slow. He didn't take his eyes off her for a second, barely even blinking. Once he was down to his boxers, she smirked victoriously at the sight of his clear arousal.
"My, my, love... I haven't even touched you yet, and you're already so hard for me. You really are the sweetest boy in the world. Take them off. No hands."
Jake managed to kick off his underwear, letting out a low moan when his length brushed against his thigh; he was painfully erect.
"Very good. Sit back, my love. We’re going to play exactly the way we like."
Once he was settled against the headboard and pillows, his girlfriend climbed on top of him, careful not to let their bodies touch or graze just yet. "Hands up, Jaeyun."
He raised both wrists above his head, watching with desperation as she secured them in dark leather handcuffs, tethering him to the bed and stripping him of any freedom of movement. She smiled down at him, gripping his jaw firmly to force his gaze upward. She kissed him hard, biting his lower lip at every opportunity. She let out a mocking little laugh when she saw him arching his hips, searching for contact.
"Look at you, Jae. You're so desperate for me, you look like you’re about to come without me even touching you. What do you want, my prince? Hmm? Tell me."
"I… I need you to touch me, love. Please… I need it. I need you so much."
"You need who?" she asked, leaning closer to her boyfriend's vulnerable, naked body, her hips almost grazing his length.
"You, Mommy…" With that, she kissed him frantically again, her hand diving down to the base of his cock. Jake shivered at the sudden grip, every hair on his body standing on end as her long nails and cold rings traced the entire length of him. She pulled away from his lips and pressed her thumb firmly over the opening of his tip; Jake's eyes snapped shut as a loud moan escaped him.
She let go of him instantly and delivered a sharp slap right there, making the poor boy beneath her thighs cry out. "You are forbidden from making a sound, Sim Jake. And I never told you to stop looking at me. Don't make me angry."
He nodded, watching her with eyes glassy from arousal, a small pout forming on his lips. She took him in her hand again and stroking him for a long time—slowly, torturously. She intentionally ran the tips of her nails over the protruding veins of his flesh and pressed against the opening once more. She watched him sternly, hunting for any slip of sound; the poor boy had to bite his lip so hard to keep his tongue from betraying him.
"Such a good boy."
She stepped away to undress, leaving herself only in her underwear—that black lingerie set Jake loved with his soul. A shiver of heat raced through him as he watched her look so devastatingly sensual, knowing he didn't even have the chance to reach out and touch her.
"Do you like what you see, Jakey?" He nodded frantically, remaining silent. "Good. Enjoy it, darling. Because in a little while, you won't even be able to do that."
She returned her hand to his aching cock and began to stroke him frantically, her grip tight as she pumped up and down. She watched him melt under her command, struggling to hold back his moans. He failed on the very last tug; a bolt of electricity shot down his spine to his core, making his thighs tremble. He came loudly and violently over her hand and his own abdomen. She let go and stepped back from the bed.
"I told you not to make a noise. You’re a bad boy... and bad boys deserve a punishment, my sweet Jakey."
She pulled a long, dark strip of fabric from the box. Climbing back over Jake—who was still struggling to catch his breath—she tied the blindfold over his eyes, leaving him completely submissive to her will. Jake thought she might finally mount him (or perhaps that was just his wishful thinking), but she had other plans.
Without warning—and amplified by the fact that he was now in total darkness—he let out a sharp moan, gritting his teeth as a sudden vibration hit the tip of his cock. His girlfriend was now using the very same vibrator on him that he usually used on her.
Without a doubt, this was the best day of his fucking life.
"No moaning, Jake." She moved the toy in circles around the sensitive, flushed head of his member, which was already slick with pre-cum again. She trailed it slowly down his length, letting it rest just beneath his testicles. It was on the lowest setting, yet Jake felt like he might lose control of his bladder right then and there. She lowered her head, peppering his length with kisses but never taking him inside her mouth. "I’m not going to suck it, so don’t even hope for that."
Jake couldn't help a low moan as the vibrations intensified. He could feel his muscles twitching under the buzz, his skin tingling with the onset of a second orgasm. When he moaned again, she responded with a sharp, hard smack against his cock. He gasped in surprise; he was so sensitive and weak that he felt as if a stray breeze would make him come again.
She struck him again, this time with a crop she’d taken from the box. With its heart-shaped tip, she caressed him, pushing her beautiful boyfriend over the edge once more. His lower abdomen tightened as he panted loudly, his release cascading over himself in a hot, frantic rush.
She swiped some of the semen from his stomach, using the leather of the crop to smear it up his sweat-drenched body. When she flicked his nipples, a shiver forced his legs to snap shut. She struck his inner thighs hard. "Open your damn legs for me, prince. Don't disappoint me."
She continued to toy with his body, giving him small, rhythmic taps with the crop until she reached his lips—pouted, swollen, and devastatingly hot. "Lick it," she commanded. And he did.
She tossed the vibrator and the crop somewhere across the room. Sinking her weight onto Jake’s trembling thighs, she kissed him again—this time, more gently, with a lingering tenderness. She ground her damp heat against his overstimulated length, and Jake let out a ragged pant, straining against the handcuffs that held him. She noticed. "What is it, prince? Do you have something to tell me, love?"
"Love, please... Please, Mommy..."
She pulled the blindfold from his eyes. Oh, those eyes. Jake looked completely undone; he was practically crying, his lashes damp and the corners of his eyes flushed a deep, pretty red. "Let me inside you... I need it."
She kissed him softly. "Are you sure, prince? Can you handle it?" He nodded with a pout, stretching his neck to seek her lips, but she pulled back. "No, no. I'm the one in charge today. But... I’ll indulge my boy. I love you, my Jaeyunie."
She pushed her lace panties aside and guided him in, taking his entire length as she sat down on him. "Oh... God... Y-yes, Mommy... C-can I be loud?" he pleaded, his bound hands instinctively twitching as they tried to reach for her hips, uselessly.
She nodded, kissing his pulse point. "Yes, my prince. Let the neighbors hear us. Let them all know that in this house, I’m the one who commands."
She began to ride him with a frantic pace, bracing herself against the wall in front of her, chasing the rhythm that made her see stars. But it was Jake who was truly seeing stars—moaning and growling loudly. His palms itched to touch her and his legs shook, but having his woman over him, riding him so ruthlessly, turned him on beyond words. The kisses on his sensitive neck were the final blow to his sanity. "Oh... Mhmm... Ah-ah... love, I'm... I'm close," he whispered breathlessly against her ear. She stopped instantly. "Love... no, please, I'm right there."
She made a silencing gesture with her hand. Leaning down to the level of his cock, she gripped the base with one hand while the other palm rubbed his tip with lightning speed. Jake let out a gut-wrenching cry, tears finally spilling over. "Oh God, Oh G-god... Mmg..." As his release began to fire, she guided him to her mouth, taking him in and swallowing every last drop. "Mgh.. Uhh... You're the best... I love you, I love you."
She smiled. "I love you so much too, my prince… What do you say? One last thing?"
He nodded. In truth, he was exhausted and utterly spent, but he could never say no to his beautiful girlfriend. She finally released him from the handcuffs, and Jake didn't hesitate for a second, his hands finding her waist as he devoured her mouth. He was hungry for her—he would never tire of being hungry for her.
"Fuck me on all fours, Jake. That's an order."
Jake smirked against her lips, flipping her onto her stomach and pulling her panties down. "I’m here to please my woman..." He finished the thought by burying himself inside her, finally able to grip her hips and kiss her without end.
Jake would definitely mark this experience in his imaginary book of 'Things I must repeat at least twice a month with my girlfriend to be happy.'
⋮ ⌗ ┆便条 ⨾ hi, me again 😭 the way my last post for this week was meant to be a won oneshot, only for @jaylaxies to feed me jake propoganda that i have been VERY susceptible to as of late, this a direct result. i've been pumping out a few posts this week, which i'm very proud of considering how much i missed writing and interacting with you all, but i have to sentence myself to some academic writing for a bit so, in my absence, please enjoy those posts and this one too! much loveeeeee! <333
"I'm bruised and bloody," Jake pouts, looking at you with impossibly dazzling eyes. "I think I deserve some comfort."
"Well, I don't know considering you chose to do boxing," you muse, crowding his space with a growing smirk. He attempts some face of displeasure, fraying when a single finger glides down the middle of his chest, reaching its rightful destination. "But I can be convinced."
His hand eclipses yours, palm over the tent in his grey shorts with a drop darker than the rest of its material. "I'm not above begging."
"I never said you were," your eyebrow quirks. "Go on then."
"Pleaseee," the vowel stretches, his own eyebrows creased as his hand applies more pressure on yours, hips so desperate for friction he rolls them. "Pretty please. Fuck, you looked so pretty, walking in the ring like it was yours,"
"Every man had his eyes on you tonight, but never the satisfaction of taking you home," he goes on, eyes swimming in pleas. "They don't know what it takes,"
"And what does that entail?"
"Begging," he bites back a whimper, your hand giving his tip a reminding squeeze, lips paling. "Worshipping the ground you walk on because that's the very least of what you deserve."
Warmth blooms in your chest, his compliant words a syphmony in your ears. The non-occupied hand you have raises, fingers carding through his chestnut brown curls, giving his sculp a generous graze of your fingers just how he likes. His cock kicks in your hold, a whine cut short as your index finger ghosts over his ear, lying a stray strand there. "Look at how good I've trained you. Saying all the words I wanna hear."
"It's not me convincing you when I believe them to be true," his head leans into your hand, every part of you the base of his comfort. His eyes flicker up to you again, in the dim of nightfall, looking at you like you hold the secrets to the universe. "I mean every word. You're my everything, I win for you. For us."
With the moisture bunching his eyelashes, one jumps ship, descending down his cheek. It's intercepted by your tongue, licked away with a chuckle vibrating into his skin, his groan echoed in the back of your merriment. "How can I say no to you?"
You kiss his lips, soft but full of love, gaze falling to them afterwards before you kiss him again, too tempted. Indulged. "You gonna be good for me? Gonna come all over my hand?"
"I'll be so good for you, I'll lick your hand clean afterwards," he nods, sweetness brimmed in his tone, hips bucking.
"I could too, you know? Kiss you afterwards like we did last time. That was good, wasn't it?" you ask, pitching your voice lower. "Tasting each other."
"Fuck," he sounds as wrecked as he feels, dropping his head because he can't take it. The heat of the moment, the subtle pressure of your hand, thumb stroking, the heaviness of his clothing. He can't help but exhale, frayed at its end to which you kiss his cheek to, just to pacify him, nosing under his jawline. "I wanna, I want to so fucking bad, you have no idea."
"I'm sure you can communicate better than that," you chuckle, shrugging off his hand to play with his shorts drawstrings. He keens at the phantom sensation. "Where's my please?
"Pleasseeee," he breathes, teeth gliding against your shoulder, searching for purchase. "I'm so hard for you. Everything you do drives me so crazy, I just─"
He collapses under his own want, grinding his canines into your skin he mumbles into. "I'll do anything you ask. Just please touch me."
His drawstring, rolled around your index finger, undoes, hand busying itself with pulling Jake out of his clothing. In a dulled moan, he helps you shovel his clothing out the way, staring hopelessly in his lap as you hold his length, thick and pulsing. Even looking at him hurts, so starved for your touch as his flushed tip beads with precome, leaking down himself enough to look like he's come already. You don't bother catching your smile, cooing with false sincerity as your grip tightens around him, thumb smearing precome against his slit, his hiss music to your ears.
"You're a mess, Jaeyunie," you comment, thumbpad moving in slow circles. His whimpers wobbles, lips pried from your skin to look between the two of you. "Does it really take that little to get you hard?'
His answer is immediate. "Yes."
"That makes this easier then," your hand leaves him, his lips jutted out in a pout as you hold your hand out. "Spit."
Obedience is all he knows, peering up at you with those pretty eyes, spitting in your hand that you reward him for by combining it with his precome, the mixture lathered down his length in friction he helplessly whines at. Keeping him at bay remains your main objective, slow drags of your hand up and over the veins lining his cock, hot and hard as you go up and down, unfastening the facet of his pouring moans.
"Feels so good," he croaks, fringe sticking to his forehead.
"This what you needed, baby?" you ask, enthused nods your answer. "Needed me to drain your balls. Let you know who's really in charge."
"Fuck, yes please," his breath picks up, hard lines of his abs quivering as his stomach caves in. "I'm yours. Tell me when to come and I'll come. I'll get to this time, right?"
"Oh baby, you're getting ahead of yourself," you laugh, free hand cupping his furnace hot cheek, glossed over eyes trying to find yours as the slick of your hand's work echoes against the cabinets of your defiled kitchen. "Just enjoy what you're given, yeah?"
"Mhm," he nods, teeth in his bottom lip before your thumb waits on them, his lips swallowing its top without a second thought.
The build-up between your thighs intensifies, cunt clenching around nothing as Jake hums into your skin, eyes fluttering closed as he loses himself in the firm pumps of your circled hand.
"So pretty for me," in the streaming moonlight, purple patches bloom across the expanse of his face, cuts and bruises in no way hindering how beautiful he looks in your eyes. "So happy to have your mouth filled. My greedy baby,"
"Want my fingers?" your hand tightens around his length, squeezing the answer out of him as he squeaks into your thumb. "Of course you do."
A dulled wet pop meshes with the mess of come drenching your other hand, thumb pulled out his lips for your two fingers to hover over your mouth, spat on before they're pushed into his mouth again. Bliss bursts across his face, more pupils than eyes as his mouth happily accepts your offering, tongue swirling around your digits. His eyes roll back at the taste, eyebrows creased with the vibration seeping through your skin. Gratification generates speed in your other hand, the circle of your hand around his length tightened as you continue to jerk him off, not missing the shameless bucks his hips do just to fuck your hand.
In his mouth, your finger travels further, watching closely as he takes what's given, left to suffer at the fate of your hands as he gags around your fingers. "Just the sound I wanted to hear."
"More," he croaks out, that glossy look overtaking his sight. A squelch sounds, spurts of precome dribbling down his large tip, hand covered in him. "Please, baby."
"Since you asked so nicely," you press onwards, his gag competing with the slather of his cock twitching in your hand, more so as tears brim his waterline, drenching his lashes. You press your thighs together to ease the tension. "You know you're your prettiest like this? Ruined for me?"
A wrecked moan attempts cutting off his gag, lips clamping down onto your fingers as he blinks away his tears, shimmers streaking down his face ─ over bruises, into patched up cuts.
You could devour him whole.
"Does it make you feel better beating up other men for me?" you ask, authority held in the low pitch of your voice. "Does it make you feel like a man?"
Your fingers relent, one last gag given before your command. "Speak."
He gasps for air, lashes bunched together as he blinks feverishly. "It makes me feel─fuck," he buckles, your hand slowed as it rests underneath his tip, thumb teasing his slit. "Useful. Wanna be useful for you, whatever you need ─ I wanna do for you."
Then he submits fully, head tilted with his best intentions as he looks up to you. "Because I'm your good boy, r-right?" something so pure shines in his eyes, lips trembling like his thighs. "Your best boy?"
"My only boy," you remark, sealing the deal in a kiss, capturing his mouth with all the possessiveness and hunger racing through you. "It's only you, Jake. Will only ever be you."
A stray tear escapes, a sob unleashed as your hand picks up its previous pace, bringing him closer to the edge. "You make me feel so good, touching me like─"
"I know your body better than you?"
The moan he lets out breaks, kiss abandoned to press his forehead into yours, lips forming various shapes at an attempt of words. "Know me so well. Know what I like, what can make me break."
"Not letting you come could really break you, Jake," your whisper carries a shadow of wickedness, the shakes of his head bringing a chest-burrowed chuckle out you. "But you're my winner, baby. Good boys always get to come."
Like a charm, your words catapult him so close to the finish line, a desperate breath blowing his desperate eyes wide before they crease in pleas. "Really? I get to come? Can I c─come?"
Moon crescents indent into the exposed sliver of his thighs, restraint braced in his tightened core as the moans pour out of his slack jaw, the burn of your arm only fuelling you to get him close. Laboured, your exhale comes out, nipples poking through the dress Jake couldn't pry his eyes from all night.
"It's what you need, right?" you question, head ducked down to his bowed head, shaky pants cycling through his chest manically. "Be my good boy and do as I say. Come."
At your mercy, hand rigid around his length in devastating pressure, one stray hand reaches out for your other. Like clockwork, your fingers interlock, a comforting squeeze given to him before his moans fill the room.
When he comes, it's with everything buried deep within him. Casting far and wide as come overflows, drenching your hand and thighs, some landing on his chest and your own. The world shatters to pieces around him, shaky sobs racking through his curved chest as he shakes like a leaf, holding onto you like a lifeline.
"I'm coming, I'm coming. Holy sh─" he cries, forehead pressed into your shoulder as wetness migrates into your skin. "Thank you, thank you for making me come. You're the best, baby. The best I've never had, I can't believe you're all mine. How fucking lucky I am,"
He rambles like this through his orgasm, fatigue burning the muscles in your arm but willpower pushing you through till overstimulation, his breaths slowed with a body curling itself. Only then does your hand leave him, surveying the damage of your actions.
"Now I'm messy like you, baby," your eyes avert down to your chest, deep neckline of your skintight dress revealing the come spurts decorating the top of your breasts. "Be good and lick it clean, Yunie."
Still dazed from his orgasm, fatigue makes his lids heavy and pleased, an obedient head nod given before he dives for your chest. Tongue laid flat, he licks the remnants of his come with languid, tortured licks, savouring the taste of you and him as he polishes your skin off. His duty doesn't come without some wonderment, his eyes closed as his mouth loses itself in the expanse of you, precious kisses laid on untouched kiss, a sliver of a taste to parts of you he wants to keep to himself, beautiful eyes beaming at you when you're whipped clean, ready for your next command.
A squeeze folds over your heart, enamoured with undying devotion. Which is why, on the surface of your cold marble kitchen countertop, you lay backwards, only holding yourself up elbows dug into the firm foundation as you nod towards your underwear. Wordlessly, he complies, jitters in his hands, knuckles flushed as he inches your short dress up your thighs, mesmorisng every mark, every mole before he gulps, your underwear in plain view. His gaze flickers to you.
"Off."
A shuddered breath starts off his movements, fingertips flirting with the lace hemming of your underwear, shattered to know you've been hiding this the entire time, him none the wiser. He can't help but kiss the bow at its middle, grazing your skin as he hooks his fingers underneath the material and pulls, expression crumbling as a string of saliva stretches between the dampened gusset and your shining folds, the rabbit in his chest singing as he tosses the underwear aside.
Before his hands can massage the plush of your thighs, kneading the flesh, you leverage your weight onto one elbow, arm extended down between your legs to coat the mess of come made of your hand to glide over your folds, corners of your lips sharpening as you track Jake watch it all unfold. Come spread from your clit to your entrance, the generous amount gathered at your hole pushed in by your two fingers, one curl of your fingers cueing the sound he loves most.
The sound of your moan.
When you're finished, some still left on your hand, mixed in with your own slick, he doesn't blink once as your tongue runs along the skin coated in him and you, smirk growing as you ask, "You gonna clean this mess too?"
He dives in immediately.
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